


Her Amaranthine

by cheddarbug



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - No Blight, Amaranthine (Dragon Age), Angst, Angst and Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Canon, Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-16 14:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14166873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheddarbug/pseuds/cheddarbug
Summary: A thrilling tale of a woman who longs to be free from the confines of the prisons she has built around herself, and a man whose sole desire is to destroy the person who he believes destroyed his family.As the threat of the Chasind lead by a strange and powerful Avvar mage knock at their southern doorstep, the two must work together to survive in both the wilds and amongst the nobility. One finds redemption, the other finds forgiveness and their fates soon intertwine as they face adversity in every imaginable form that seeks to separate them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Excited for my first ever slow burn! Dear Sweet Maker...turn your gaze upon me and lend me your strength to get through this!
> 
> This is still very much a rough draft. I have gone through and edited what I could find, but without a beta, it can be hard to find all the mistakes. Critique (positive of course!) is always welcome and appreciated!

Lyse Cousland let out a deep sigh as she looked out her balcony window, taking in the myriad of colors bleeding together in the sky as the sun slipped below the treeline in the distance. A gentle breeze caressed her bare shoulders, leaving pebbles in its wake though she refused to return to her quarters just yet. Just a few more minutes of enjoying the outdoors, letting her mind wander to places she may never see again before duty called her back to reality as Arlessa Cousland.

She hated it here. She hated the constant gloomy weather. She hated the halls that echoed with once cherished memories of summers spent here with her family and their so called ‘friends’. She hated the constant reminder of what was or could have been had Rendon Howe not betrayed her father’s trust and nearly wiped out the entire Cousland line in one night. She hated the bloody title. No matter how much she hated this place, it was now her home whether she liked it or not. 

It was supposed to be poetic, at least according to the nobles that now were under her rule. The sole survivor of a great betrayal rising from nothing to that of an arlessa in the course of just over a year, taking her vengeance upon the man that killed her parents and laying claim to everything that had been his. Poetic her ass. Vigil’s Keep was a prison, constantly reminding her of the dark path she had walked when vengeance had been her constant companion. Now that her task was complete and the war was over, she was finally able to open her eyes to see all the blood on her hands.

Lyse thought back to what had brought her to this moment. The missive from King Cailen delivered to her father seeking his aid in dealing with the growing Chasind problem near Ostagar. She had helped write the letters to the knights under Bryce Cousland’s command, calling them forth to fight for their kingdom against their newest foe and she had trained alongside them in the days leading up to their march south. She remembered the disappointment she had felt when her father had ordered her to stay at Castle Cousland with her mother while allowing her brother Fergus to accompany him to fight in the battle that was to come. 

Then came the betrayal. How Rendon Howe had lied about his men being delayed, convincing her father to stay behind and ride into battle at his side. Bryce had sent his troops ahead with his eldest Fergus, leaving Highever all but defenseless as Howe’s men stole into the night, killing all that opposed them. Oriana and Oren, Fergus’ wife and son, were among those slaughtered while Lyse and her mother fought through the soldiers only to find that Bryce had been mortally wounded. She remembered her heart breaking into a thousand pieces as her parents urged her to escape, knowing that if she stayed there would be no one to tell her brother the truth of what had happened. 

She clutched at her stomach, tears welling in her eyes. Everyone that ever said the pain would go away with time surely had never lost people the way Lyse had. Time had done nothing to heal this wound. Time wouldn’t erase the memory of their faces as they let their daughter go, knowing that their end lay just beyond the wooden door. At least now she didn’t have enough time to constantly think about it, seeing as she was always busy with some dispute among the nobles of the Amaranthine arling.

Lyse had King Alistair to thank for that. He had meant well in bestowing the arling to her in an attempt to rectify the wrong that had been made against the Couslands, but he hadn’t truly understood the weight of the consequences. And how could he? The man had been raised in the Chantry before being recruited as a Grey Warden. He knew nothing of ruling or how an entire arling of people might react if the person who killed their former leader took over. She may have been titled the Hero of Ferelden for her acts during the civil war just over a year ago, but that didn’t mean the people of Amaranthine loved her. Most of them had despised her because she wouldn’t make good on promises Rendon had made them during the war. 

So here she was, risen in a tower overlooking an entire arling that she knew plotted against her. It was only a matter of time before they took matters into their own hands and marched on Vigil’s Keep, but for now they feared her friendship with their new king and that kept them complacent enough. Lyse wouldn’t call upon his help if she could avoid it; the people wouldn’t come to respect her if she hid behind the crown every time a conflict arose within her lands, but she wasn’t afraid to send for aid should she desperately need it either. She still had those loyal to her within the stony walls, and her brother’s men in Highever were only a couple days march should things get out of her control.

“My Lady?” a voice called from behind, snapping her out of her thoughts. The sun had long since sank in the horizon, bringing a clear night sky twinkling with stars overhead. She turned to see one of the serving elves standing in the doorway to her bedroom holding a letter. Most likely it was another proposal from a noble near the city hoping to marry her and gain the title of Arl.

“Set it on the table please, thank you,” she ordered, leaving her place on the balcony and coming into the room. The elf did as she asked and stoked the fire to life so that it would warm the room. Lyse wrapped a cowl over her chilled shoulders and sat next to the hearth so that she could warm herself as she read through the reports and missives and  _ proposals _ that had piled up on her table. 

“My Lady, you have a visitor. She claims to be an old friend of yours. Shall I send her up?” the elf asked while standing in the doorway. 

“Please do,” she replied, sorting her missives into separate piles in order of importance. She hated the mundane work of solving everyone else’s problems so any distraction that would keep her from the task at hand was more than welcome. 

She had only to wait a few minutes before the door opened once again, revealing a shock of red hair and bright blue eyes. Leliana smiled warmly, her features softened in the dim light of the fire. Lyse wasted no time rushing to meet her friend, throwing her arms about her unceremoniously and grinning widely at the reunion. It had been  _ months _ since they had last seen each other. In fact, it had been at Alistair’s official coronation as King of Ferelden that they had last spoken in person.

“It is so good to see you!” she exclaimed, excited to have a friendly face in her home. 

“It is good to see you as well, Lyse. Or should I call you Arlessa Cousland?” Leliana replied. 

“I’d rather you didn’t. Come, sit and talk with me. Tell me what you have been up to these past few months,” Lyse beckoned for her friend to join her by the fire. Leliana accepted the offer, sitting daintily in the plush chair and smoothing her tight leather breeches. Her eyes glanced over the letter that Lyse had been reading before she had entered and her lips twitched into a knowing half grin. 

“Have many suitors, do you?” she asked her friend, picking the letter up and reading through it more carefully.

Lyse grabbed the letter from the woman and tossed it carelessly into the fire. “Only because I have a title they want. It is of no matter to me. I have a position now that allows me to make my own decisions for a change, and none of  _ those _ decisions involve marrying a single one of these nobles, not when they want me dead or gone.”

“Have you experienced much trouble with the people of Amaranthine?” Leliana asked, her brow knitting together in worry. That was just like her, worrying over the smallest inconvenience of her friends. 

“Only from a few loud individuals. Bann Esmerelle is among the loudest of all. Nothing I cannot handle,” Lyse replied. “What brings you to Vigil’s Keep? I thought you had traveled back to Orlais?”

Her friend nodded, leaning back against the chair and closed her eyes in contemplation. “I did. I spoke with Empress Celene on behalf of King Alistair over the documents found in Cailan's belongings. She is still insistent on the proposal made, though Cailen is now dead, but as you can imagine Alistair is not fond of the idea of a marriage uniting Ferelden and Orlais. I am sure the people would agree.”

“What does this mean then?”

“Nothing. Celene fears that her cousin plans to conspire against her for the Orlesian throne, but she is looking for some form of compensation for sending chevaliers to aid him in acquiring his. I am sure they will be writing letters back and forth and attending events for years to come before they ever reach an agreement on the matter,” she replied. “Speaking of our king, he sent me this to deliver to you personally.”

Lyse took the letter from Leliana’s hands, turning it over in her own. She had received several letters from Alistair, always written by his scribes, but this one was different. She recognized the messy scrawl right away and smiled to herself. “How is he?”

“He has taken to being king quite well. The people love him and look forward to his appearances-”

“I know all of that, Leli. I want to know how  _ he _ is. Does he seem happy?” Lyse asked.

“That isn’t what you asked,” Leliana giggled. “Can one truly be happy in a position of power such as his?”

The bard had a point. It hurt to know that Alistair possibly felt even a sliver of the resentment that she felt in being pushed into this position. She had helped in that endeavor, siding with Arl Eamon in rallying behind him as their true king and now knowing that he possibly hated it, she felt the guilt of her part in it weigh upon her.

“If it eases your mind any, he does seem to miss our company. He even asked if I had heard from Zevran,” Leliana went on, idly twisting a lock of hair in her fingers. 

“And have you?” Lyse raised a dark brow. “I confess, there are few that I keep in contact with, and I haven’t heard from my favorite assassin as of late.”

“As far as I know, he is back in Antiva working against the Crows. He must be very busy.”

Lyse listened to her talk about the latest on all of their former companions as she opened the letter from Alistair. It seemed that the bard knew far more than Lyse ever could have hoped to learn about their team with the exception of where Morrigan disappeared to. Leliana seemed to have her suspicions that she was in Orlais and working with Empress Celene, but she hadn’t seen the apostate with her own eyes while she was there. Once the letter was open, a dried rose fell from the page and onto her lap-the same dried rose that she had carried with her from the moment Alistair had given it to her on the road. The very same one she had returned to him the night everything between them had fallen apart.

Leliana quieted, her eyes catching sight of the gift before turning towards her friend. Lyse read through the letter three times before closing her own eyes and letting out a deep sigh. He wanted to see her, no, he had said he  _ needed _ to see her. If the rose was any indication as to why he needed to...Lyse wasn’t so sure she wanted to consider that. 

“I take it that he hasn’t quite moved on since that day,” the bard pointed out, taking the letter from her hands and reading it through. “Come to think of it, he was very adamant that I not delay in delivering this to you.”

“Of course he was,” Lyse sighed, leaning back in the chair. She hadn’t directly spoken to him in months, not since his coronation. Even then, their conversation had been formal at best; a king to the woman that he gave an entire arling to for her efforts in the war. It still amazed her how two people who had loved each other as deeply as they had were reduced to stilted conversation and awkward bowing. Of course, she only had herself to blame for that.

“You don’t intend on talking to him, do you?” Leliana asked, her eyes full of understanding. “We both know that is most likely why he wishes to see you, why he wrote you personally rather than use a scribe.”

She had a point, one that Lyse could hardly deny as her mind had come to that conclusion the moment she had seen the rose. It seemed that Alistair had finally taken all the time he had needed to think about everything that had transpired between them that fateful evening. Just the memory of his face twisting from rage to despair and the way his voice broke when he had asked her to leave him cut her to her soul. He may be ready to speak with her, but she wasn’t sure if she had quite made it there herself. 

“If he wishes to speak to me about  _ that _ , then no,” Lyse shook her head sadly. For a moment the two friends sat in silence, Leliana not needing specifics and Lyse not wanting to elaborate further. Leliana knew, well everyone that she had travelled with knew what had transpired between them, but sometimes the past was better left buried. Thankfully, her friend seemed aware of her intentions to leave it be and changed the subject. 

“He didn’t just send me to deliver the letter with the rose,” Leliana began. “I was also to tell you that he plans on having another Landsmeet in a week.”

Lyse turned to her friend in surprise. “A week? Why am I just now hearing of this?” she asked. “And another Landsmeet so soon after the last one?”

Leliana nodded, “It isn’t because of the nobility. Apparently there is word of things happening further south near Ostagar. He did not give me the details, only to inform you to come at once.”

Lyse took time to consider this new information, the places her imagination wandered not looking too favorable. Why did everything that went wrong with this nation have to start with Ostagar? “Will you be leaving here to give him my reply? Or am I to just leave tomorrow and announce my presence?” she asked with a grin. 

“I am to be on my way back to Orlais, but I had assured him you would arrive as soon as you were able.”

“Then I wish you well on your journey. Next time, do not wait so long to visit me,” Lyse stood and wrapped her arms around her friend in a loving embrace. “I envy your ability to travel so often. To think I would miss the constant camping in damp tents in the freezing rain.”

The two of them said their good nights before Leliana was lead to her room in another part of the keep, leaving the arlessa alone and ready for bed. She looked back down at the letter and the rose from Alistair, her heart throbbing with the longing his words had brought her. If only she were still worthy of him, she thought as she reached for the sleeping draught next to her bed. If only they were still good for each other...

 

***

 

Lyse was sound asleep in her bed, the door slightly cracked to allow her mabari, Ranger, to come in whenever he pleased. Nowadays he preferred to sleep near the barracks with the soldiers and their own dogs as it seemed that the quiet palace life wasn’t for him either, but occasionally he would come in and curl up in the bed beside Lyse and warm her through the cold Ferelden nights. 

As she rested on her soft, feathered mattress in a dreamless sleep brought by the potion, a shadow flickered just outside her window. The lone figure moved silently through the room, carefully avoiding the tables and chairs as he made his way to the bed where the arlessa dreamed. Grey eyes narrowed at the sight of her in the four poster bed that should have been his by rights, but no, this  _ usurper _ had taken everything his father had worked for and tainted it. 

She would pay.

Cautiously he stalked towards her, unsheathing the hidden blade at his side. With careful precision that had taken years of training to perfect, the man was able to open a bottle of his special poison blend and coat his steel with it without ever rousing her. Just one quick nick and she would be immobilized, another slice and her life would be over without the guards being alerted at all. If she somehow got the better of him, she wouldn’t last long without magical help. How long he had waited for this moment, to bring justice to his father’s and brother’s murderer and the single person that had ruined his family name. 

She sighed, rolling over onto her side and making him freeze in his tracks. He wasn’t stupid, this woman was the Hero of Ferelden and had fought Loghain as well as countless soldiers during the war. If she woke to find him standing over her, his life would surely be over quickly. Just as he began to relax and approach again once she had stilled, the woman began thrashing and tossing. He could see the sweat upon her brow as her face contorted into a look of pure panic. She mumbled incoherent sentences until suddenly she was sitting upright with a blade in her hand and looking directly at him. 

The two of them stilled in surprise. He wondered if she were still asleep, driven by whatever nightmare was currently plaguing her while Lyse blinked in shock upon seeing a man in her room that certainly shouldn’t have been there. On high alert, she threw her blade with the skills she had learned from Zevran, her steel sinking to the hilt in his shoulder as he moved to dodge the attack. 

Hindered by her blankets and sleeping gown, Lyse struggled to free herself of her confines and reach for another blade hidden under her bed. It’s hilt lay just out of reach from her searching fingers when the assassin lunged at her. She rolled out of the way just as he brought down his dagger, slicing into her bed and ripping through the mattress. 

“Guards!” she called out, rushing behind a chair and using it to block the man from getting closer to her. There was no answer and fear gripped her heart.  _ Oh Maker, please lend me strength, _ she prayed, tossing the chair at her intruder and seeking anything she could use as a weapon. The man was surprisingly fast, dodging the projectile and closing in on her. With little left to do than defend herself, Lyse quickly began blocking and dodging his blows. 

He was strong, stronger than her, and as she was still somewhat foggy from the sleeping draught she had taken, Lyse knew that he had the upper hand. They worked their way around the room until she came upon the chair that now lay in broken pieces. Sharp pieces. Pieces she could use. Fire burned across her skin as she moved her head to the side, his blade slicing against her neck as she reached for the broken leg of the chair. Lyse thrust forward, missing the assassin and tried again. The more she tried, the heavier and stiffer her limbs felt. 

Poison. The bastard had poisoned her. She called out again, her voice thick and raspy as the poison coursed through her veins. He had her right where he wanted her, cornered and inhibited in her movement. It seemed the nobles of Amaranthine would get their wish after all, a swift death to the woman they hated and feared. How fitting it was that she would die in this prison that had become her home. 

Soon her eyes were the only thing she had the ability to move, and so Lyse looked up to the man she now knew was her demise. If only he would step into the light, so that she may look upon the face of her killer and know him for what he was, but he would not grant her that knowledge. Lyse tried to smile up at him; she wanted to thank him for making this decision for her and relieve her of the duties she had come to despise, but her mouth hung open and her vocal chords had long since stopped working. 

She watched, darkness tugging at her vision and threatening to take her away, as he crouched down to her level, the blade hugging at her bleeding neck. She tried to blink to see him better, she wanted to, but her vision blurred, hiding his face from her as the shadows had before. He began talking, but Lyse could not make out the words. Whatever his poison concoction was, it would surely kill her before his dagger did. 

A loud bang that surely would have made her jump did seem to surprise the assassin. A deep, low growling and a large body was suddenly standing over hers. Ranger. She wanted to stay awake, but the darkness closed in upon her, making the last thing she heard the man’s howling as her mabari attacked.


	2. Chapter 2

Fevered dreams consumed Lyse as she tossed and turned. The faces of Rendon and Thomas Howe haunted her, each one taking over the shadowed face of the man that had tried to kill her. Or perhaps he had? Maybe this suffering was a part of the Void, and if so, why didn’t the Chantry tell her more about it to keep her from possibly going there? Surely telling someone that their greatest sin would play on repeat as a constant reminder of their failure in the eyes of the Maker would keep more people in line. It may have even made her reconsider her path of vengeance. 

Voices sounded overhead, though faraway. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they seemed worried. The pain in her neck intensified and a rotting stench filled her nostrils, nearly making her choke. She wanted to open her eyes, to see where she was and who was talking over her, but her body betrayed her. It wouldn’t obey the simple commands she gave it. Perhaps it was the poison still in her system or maybe it was just how the Void worked, she didn’t know. Searing, blinding pain shot through her again and somehow she found her voice as she cried out in agony.

“She’s waking up. I need more elfroot to numb the pain,” a voice said gently overhead. Lyse’s eyes fluttered at the sound and relaxed under the cool fingers that now stroked against her forehead. “Take your time, don’t rush.”

Slowly she peeked through her lashes, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting created by the fireplace nearby. Her chest heaved while she caught her breath, fighting the pain that pulsed from the place on her neck where the dagger had nicked her. As her vision came into focus, she could see the face of a man that looked somewhat familiar to her, but she couldn’t place him. 

The man had pulled his blond hair from his face and peered into her eyes. Dark stubble lined his jaw, and soft lips pursed together as he examined her with gentle brown eyes. Seemingly satisfied, he reached behind him to a mug and brought it to her, tilting it to her lips and allowing her to drink. Lyse had no idea how parched she was until the cool water hit her tongue and she greedily sucked as much of the liquid into her mouth as he would allow. Streams of it dribbled to her chin, but she didn’t care as she licked her lips and asked for more.

“In a minute. I need you to tell me how you feel,” he said to her. “Do you think you can sit up?”

Lyse immediately began to try, thankful that now her limbs seemed to be moving the way they were supposed to, even if they were far too heavy and clumsy for her liking. The man helped her into a sitting position, taking every measure of her comfort into account by stacking blankets and pillows around to help stabilize her. It took a few moments and another few drinks to get her voice to come back, though it was thick and raspy from lack of use. 

“What happened?” she asked, resting her head against the pillow.

“There was an attempt on your life, my Lady,” Seneschal Varel explained from the doorway to her right. She was unsure of how long he had been there, but grateful to have a familiar face nearby. “Your mabari apprehended him long enough for the guards to arrest him and throw him in the dungeons to await your judgement.”

She could live with that. Nothing wrong with letting a murderer rot in a cell for a few days. “I see I am alive. I suppose I have you to thank for that?” Lyse asked, turning her attention to the man that was currently boiling something absolutely putrid over the fireplace. He rose his spoon to show thick bandages covered with the stuff before nodding his head. 

“Lucky for you we were just passing through. Had we stopped by a day later, I doubt you would still be with us,” he answered. 

“We? Where were you heading?” she asked, then regretted it immediately. Giving him another once over, she could clearly see he was wearing mage’s robes. Another glance around the room revealed several Templars carefully watching his every movement. 

“Oh? You didn’t know? Shame really. We were off to Denerim to put on a show for good King Alistair, weren’t we boys?” he smiled widely at the Templars who seemed to groan. “They are usually much more lively than this.”

Lyse smiled at his optimism, glad to see that his spirits didn’t seem the least bit hampered by the situation he was currently in. As the fog of whatever potion he had given her to keep sleeping lifted, her memories returned. He had been the apostate that escaped the Circle and fled to Amaranthine. The Templars had apprehended him earlier that day, if her memory served her right. “So I take it you will be heading back to the Circle soon, yes?” she asked as he began poking around at the base of her neck.

“Not quite. Our little assassin used a wonderful mixture of poisons, and this fleshrot has really been doing a number on you. I don’t suggest breathing for a moment while I remove these bandages,” he warned. She felt a gentle warmth spread through her, a familiar feeling that reminded her of the countless times Morrigan and Wynne had healed her wounds.

“Surely it can’t take that long to heal me with magic. I’ve had worse than fleshrot poison used on me before,” she winced, feeling the pull of the bandages at her neck. Just as he had said, the smell of rotting flesh soon overwhelmed her, leaving her nearly gagging as he examined the wound. 

“Well, it has been three days.”

Lyse turned to glare at him. It never took Wynne or Morrigan three days to heal someone. She knew life in the tower had to be horrible, she had heard the stories, but it couldn’t have been so bad if Wynne loved it as much as she did. At this point he was just stalling to keep from going back. “ _ Three _ days? I needed to leave here two days ago for Denerim!” she exclaimed.

“Leliana has already left to relay this information to the King. I received a raven this morning from the capital sending his concerns over the matter,” Varel explained. “The Landsmeet will not begin until you are recovered enough to make the journey.”

She turned to the mage who had left her neck alone to remove the pot from the flames and set out the bandages to cool. “And am I ready for travel?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. Your flesh is still sloughing off and that makes it prone to infection. It has also been days since you have last had a meal. I suggest you resting-” he began only to have her finger press against his lips.

“I’ve seen what mages can do. Why is it taking you so long?” Her green hazel eyes narrowed as she looked into his. 

“My Lady, if I may, this young man has worked tirelessly for days in ensuring your survival. Even our own healers were unable to make any progress before I asked him from the dungeons for his aid,” Varel intercepted them, moving to her side and asking her to be easy. Reluctantly she removed her finger and allowed him to answer her, though she wasn’t sure she would be convinced. 

“I know what I am doing,” he answered her. “But you cannot heal rotting flesh. I can help  the new tissue grow, but the damage done was before I was able to work my magic on you.”

Lyse considered this for a moment, thinking over everything she had gone through before during the civil war. She knew what the different poisons did, Zevran and Leliana had been thorough with their teaching in the wilds as they assembled their army to fight against Loghain, but in all her experience, she didn’t remember a time when any of them had been afflicted with the effects of the poison themselves. Oh, she had seen what it could do on several soldiers that were careless enough to stand in Zevran’s way, but they hadn’t ever needed healing for they were dead long before the poison killed them. Perhaps the mage was right.

“My apologies-” she began, then realized she did not yet know his name. 

“Call me Anders. Everyone else does anyway,” he smiled, though now he seemed more reserved around her, not that she didn’t deserve it.

“I’m sorry, Anders. I would ask your forgiveness,” she bowed her head, wincing a bit as pain shot through her neck. Quickly, he took the bandages he had cooling and placed them upon her wound. They were still warm, and the elfroot extract that coated them seemed to soothe away the pain with each breath she took.

“No need. You almost dying has kept me out of the Circle for another three days. I should be thanking you.”

Lyse was silent for a moment, wondering how long it might take her to recover before being able to ride out to Denerim. The other nobles of Ferelden would likely be displeased at having to wait for her to arrive, and that would cause trouble for their king.

“If you were to travel with me, do you think I could make it to Denerim?” she asked Anders. His eyes lit up with surprise and an eagerness that let her know he would be more than willing to put off his trip back to the Circle, but the Templars behind him finally spoke up.

“We are not to delay any longer than necessary. We should be leaving tonight, he has given instructions to your healers,” one of them stated. 

“Spoilsport,” Anders grumbled, taking care to be gentle as he applied the last bandage. 

“As the Hero of Ferelden, I would not entrust my care to anyone other than Anders at the moment, considering he was the only one able to save my life. I am sure if I sent word to King Alistair, he would agree with me on the matter,” she replied. It was a low blow to bring up her friendship and familiarity with the king, but what was a few more days delaying them on their journey?

“We have our orders, my Lady. We are to return the escapee to Kinloch Hold at once. We have delayed for as long as we were able. The king cannot overrule the Chantry,” another Templar denied her yet again. 

“I understand,” she nodded, casting her sad eyes to the disappointed mage. “Though, I do believe that the First Enchanter and Knight Commander will be present at this Landsmeet. That would mean more Templars to help keep an eye on him. Besides, I could speak with them personally on your behalf and apologize for the delay.”

The Templars looked at each other and one eventually shrugged. “Very well,” he said with a curt nod. “Mage, will she be ready for travel tomorrow?”

“Ready enough, good sir!” He smiled cheekily, quite pleased that the argument worked in his favor. “But you, my Lady, should get some more rest. I have another sleeping draught-”

Lyse held up her hand and shook her head. She would rather not be put into a fog and there was still much to do before she could sleep again anyway. She cast her gaze towards Varel, who had remained steadfast and silent throughout the exchange with the Templars. “I wish to see our prisoner.”

“My Lady, you have but just woken after several days. Your wound-” he balked, standing straight and shaking his head. “I will make sure that he is properly cared for until your return, but I cannot allow you to visit with him now.”

“I have rested enough,” she said, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed to prove her point. She ignored the wave of weakness that washed over her, threatening to topple her back onto the soft mattress. “I would also like to have some food this evening before I even consider riding upon a horse for a few days.”

Varel looked to Anders, possibly hoping that the mage would chastise her for going against his orders to rest, but he just shrugged his shoulders and said, “Fresh air might do her some good. Food would really help.”

The seneschal sighed and rubbed his face before conceding. “Very well. I’ll send for some food for you and have Garavel escort you to the dungeons.”

Victorious, Lyse leaned back into the bed to wait for the captain of her guard to retrieve her. She could hear Varel complain under his breath, but she knew that he only did so because he cared for her health. He was one of the few people she could rely upon in this place. One of the few she could trust to not wish her dead like so many of the other nobles. She would have to make a point to get him something from Denerim for all his efforts and, of course, having to deal with her stubbornness.

With Anders done caring for her for the evening, Lyse had offered to share in the food that was brought to her. She wasn’t sure what they had been feeding him, or if he had paused to eat at all while caring for her, but he had eagerly dug into everything she knew she couldn’t eat. As much as she wanted to talk with him and learn about him, she knew she needed to save her energy for dealing with her assassin deep within the keep’s dungeon. 

After she had eaten her fill, Garavel arrived to help escort her below the keep. The sun was just beginning to set in the west as they journeyed from the keep to the building that housed the criminals of Amaranthine. She did her best to hide the weakness she was feeling by standing tall and strolling with a purpose. At least the elfroot concoction that Anders had made was keeping the wound on her neck from causing her too much discomfort. A few times she tripped, or used her arms to balance herself as they descended the stairs. If Garavel noticed, he was kind enough not to comment. He did, however, talk about this man’s capture. 

“It took four of us, my Lady. And Ranger too, though I have no doubt your mabari would have killed him if he wanted to,” the captain said.

“He did appear to be quite strong,” she replied breathlessly. “Has he said anything about who he is or why he wants me dead?”

Garavel shook his head. He reached for the ring of keys at his belt and opened the first gate that would lead them to the cells further in. “No, my Lady. He is a stubborn one. He won’t speak to anyone except for you.”

“Well, I suppose that will have to be a start.”

“Be wary, my Lady. He seems like a man with nothing to lose. He will most likely try to provoke you,” the captain warned. 

“I’ve dealt with worse than him. Besides, I don’t think I have the energy to be angry. I simply want answers before I leave tomorrow.”

Lyse could feel her companion’s eyes upon her, but he said nothing in regards to her current state, and for that she was grateful. They walked in silence the rest of the way to the cells, nodding at the knights that stood guard as they passed. 

Though night was on it’s way, following the setting of the sun, it was always dark below in the dungeons. Dripping water echoed through the stony walls and the smell of piss and stench assaulted their nose the further in they went. Torches lit their way, barely illuminating some of the cells where several people rattled their chains or called out to them. 

When Lyse had taken over as the arlessa, she had gone through personally with each person that had been imprisoned within the keep to assess why they were there. Some of them had simply been poor beggars that had stolen food. Others had been those that had killed people. The majority of those imprisoned had been those that had stood against the treason of Rendon Howe, and it was those people she had freed and compensated for their trouble. She knew it wouldn’t undo the horrors they had gone through, but many of them were just grateful to be free. All that were left now to rot in these cells were those that were a danger to other people of Amaranthine.

And of course, a danger to her.

They finally arrived at the last cell in the block. It was the furthest from any source of light, so Garavel had taken a torch to illuminate their way. Two guards stood on either side of the cell, notably out of reach from the man within. Lyse had to give this mysterious stranger credit, he seemed to be resourceful.

Garavel banged on the iron bars, announcing her presence. Lyse took the torch from him and motioned for him to wait outside. The captain hesitated, torn between his duty of watching her and obeying her orders. He eventually submitted when it became clear that the prisoner wouldn’t speak unless she was alone. At least somewhat alone. She wasn’t about to make the guards leave.

Once the captain was out of earshot, Lyse heard the telltale rattling of chains dragging across the cobbled floor. Straw rasped as the man within began to stir, and as much as she wanted to get closer to get a better look at his face, the arlessa chose to stand just outside of arms reach in case he tried to kill her again. His frame was hunched, from what she could see, and he was cradling the arm she assumed Ranger had grabbed onto when saving her. Good dog.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the great Hero of Ferelden. The fearless woman who single handedly ended the civil war. Or so the stories say,” a deep, condescending voice rumbled. Already so eager to rouse her. 

“Who are you?” she asked, surprised at just how level she sounded. In truth, being near someone that had nearly successfully taken her life just days ago was unnerving.

“You don’t remember?” he growled, the fingers of his good hand gripping the bars. He was closer now, close enough all she had to do was walk forward and shine the light upon his face, but her feet wouldn’t move.

“Who sent you to kill me? Was it someone of Amaranthine?” she asked. Perhaps he was some low lord that felt she had wronged him, and he was just crazy enough to take coin for her death should he succeed. It didn’t seem beyond the Bann Esmerelle to hire a desperate man to do her bidding.

“I wasn’t hired by anyone,” he argued, clearly irritated. 

“Then why did you try to kill me?” she demanded, her voice shaking only slightly. She took a single step forward, and then another. “What wrong have I done to you that you sought fit to murder me in my sleep?”

Lyse could now see a better outline of the man. Long, dark hair brushed at his shoulders and she could just make out his sharp facial features. To her relief it seemed that Varel had made sure that his arm was adequately bandaged. If she took another few steps she was sure she would see him clearly, but she held back. She wasn’t stupid.

“Because you murdered my father,” he spat, striking against the bars of his cage and making Lyse jump. The guards tensed, both of them looking at their arlessa, but she simply shook her head. She was safe, for the moment at least. “And my brother,” he added.

She took a deep breath and closed the space between her and the cell, raising her torch and illuminating the man’s face for the first time. He was pale, his skin taunt over his face though his eyes burned with intensity. Despite clearly being deprived of a decent meal, he looked strong enough to fight several men. Still, though there was something familiar about the man before her, she couldn’t place him. He had mentioned that she didn’t remember him, and it was true. “My apologies. War has given me a long list of lives I have taken. If I killed your family, it was only out of self defense and serving the rightful king.”

He sneered at her through the bars, eyes burning with a hatred so intense that she found herself taking a step back. “I bet you don’t even remember them. They were all probably meaningless to you, but they weren’t to me. They were my family and this was  _ my _ home before you took it all away.”

Lyse’s eyes widened in shock, but she thrust the light forward to get a better look of the man’s face shrouded in shadows. His lips twitched into a hateful sneer as he pressed himself closer to the bars. Her hands shook and she nearly dropped the torch as memories long forgotten rushed forth. “Nate?”

At his malicious smile, Nathaniel Howe stepped back into the shadows, confirming his identity while she used her strength to keep standing. It wasn’t the shock of seeing his face after nearly a decade since they had last seen each other, no. It was the memories of Rendon and Thomas now threatening to consume her as she placed a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. “So you  _ do _ remember.”

Anger rose within her, overriding the fear and the pain and the guilt that had almost taken control. “Your father was a traitor!” she spat, her words failing her.

“My father rode with the Hero of Riverdane and earned his title! He was a hero and you murdered him,” Nathaniel shouted back, his hands now gripping the iron bars until his knuckles went white. 

“He murdered my family in their own home. He didn’t even have the decency to do it himself, but ordered his men to do it while they were vulnerable.” Lyse turned away. Her eyes were burning at the unshed tears that threatened to fall. She would not let him see her weak. She couldn’t. 

Silence hung in the air between them as she fought for control over her emotions again. She needed to sit, to lie down. Maybe she would take the sleeping potion from Anders after all, now that Nathaniel had stirred the memory of her family’s death and dug up the memories she had tried to desperately bury of his own family.

“There was no proof of my father’s involvement-” he began. 

If she could have reached through the bars to smack him, she would have. “ _ I _ was the proof! No one in Castle Cousland survived the encounter except for me. Any of your father’s men that I had killed in order to protect myself and my mother were removed when Loghain helped to clean up the mess Rendon made.”

“And a scared girl could easily make up anything she wanted to believe to place the blame. I read the reports when I received word in Starkhaven.”

It was pointless, utterly pointless to argue with him. He was going to believe what he wanted and Lyse didn’t have the energy or the will to fight him at the moment. She needed to rest, but most of all she needed to forget. She rubbed her temple, trying to work away the memories of the screams and the begging and the blood…

“Look,” he said, his voice softer now, causing her to turn and look in his direction. “What happened to your family was horrible, I won’t deny that. And my father’s role in the civil war was less than honorable, but everything was taken from us. The Howe’s are now pariahs thanks to you, and many of us had nothing to do with what my father had done.”

“Rendon made his choice,” she replied. “That you and your family had to suffer for it, I am sorry. All I ever wanted was to make him pay for what he took from me and my brother.”

Nate was quiet for a moment, resting his forehead against the bars of the cage. Whatever fight was in him seemed to have calmed for the moment, but Lyse knew it wasn’t gone. “Can you at least tell me that he died an honorable death?” he asked, his eyes looking up at her.

“That I cannot do.”

There was no point in talking with him any longer. They would just go around each other over and over until one of them gave up. She hated to be the first to do so, but her energy was spent and the dank air that clung to her skin was beginning to make her feel sick. Thankfully Nathaniel seemed to have nothing else to say, and she was able to leave the dungeons in relative peace, save for the memories flashing through her mind. 

Everything Nathaniel had said was fair, though obviously he had been fed misinformation about the exact happenings of Castle Cousland. He was in his right to extract revenge upon his family just as she had been, however misguided he was. He even had the right to ask her how his father and brother had died, not that she would tell him. No one knew the exact details, not Alistair, Zevran, or even Leliana. They had their suspicions, of that Lyse had no doubt, but they knew nothing of the details. She preferred it that way.

Garavel waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. Without saying a word, he held out his arm so that she may use him to guide her and she thanked the Maker for it. By the time they had ascended the steps, she was out of breath and her legs were shaking, but she kept on. If any of the nobles that plotted against her were looking upon her now, Lyse would show them just how much fight she had left within her after a brush with death. 

The captain led her all the way back to the cot where Anders was waiting with a look of concern. “You overdid it, didn’t you?” he asked as he helped her back into the bed.

“Anders?” she asked, resting her head against the pillow, her face turned away so that he couldn’t see the tears of her guilt and fear stain her cheeks. “Perhaps I will take that sleeping potion after all.”


	3. Chapter 3

As Lyse had expected, she had woken to her head in a fog from the potion from the evening before. Anders had tried to give her some other things to help clear her mind, but she was quite tired of drinking those horrible draughts. They had a long journey ahead, she could sleep it off if she had to. Varel  _ had _ been insistent that she travel in a carriage rather than on horseback as she was still recovering and after the night before, she didn’t bother arguing with him. He was right.

Before they left, Lyse entrusted Varel to make sure that Nathaniel was given better food and even proper bedding. He had protested, reminding her that he had just tried to kill her, but she refused him. She knew better than anyone what it was like to have everything taken from them. As much as she should despise the man, she empathized with him more. The arlessa did promise that while she was away she would consider what to do with him, but in the meantime he should be given some measure of small comfort. 

Thankfully the day was devoid of the rain and clouds that normally plagued the Amaranthine coast. Seagulls floated on the winds that carried them out to sea just beyond the sight of the caravan that was making its way southeast to Denerim. It felt good to feel the warm caress of the sun’s rays lick her cheeks as she looked out the window of the carriage at the world as they passed by. Rich greenery lined the road as bugs and butterflies flitted from plant to plant. Birds chirping in the branches coupled with the gentle pattern of hooves on the dirt road relaxed her. Once Vigil’s Keep was out of sight, Lyse finally felt free. 

Her travelling companion, on the other hand, was not quite feeling the same freedom she was. Anders was surprisingly at ease, despite the Templars that rode their horses alongside their carriage, but that didn’t stop Lyse from noticing the way he watched them. 

“Tell me about yourself,” she asked, reaching her hand out the window to feel the gentle breeze. To think she was actually jealous of the knights sitting upon their horses and soaking in the rare sunlight that hung above them. 

“Not much to tell, my Lady. I’ve been in the Circle most my life,” he replied cheerfully. 

“I take it you don’t much like it there,” she smiled, her gaze meeting his in understanding. She may not be a mage trapped in a tower being told that she was an abomination, but she was an outsider made arlessa trapped in a keep where the people around her wanted her dead. It was close enough.

Anders shrugged. “It’s not  _ so _ bad. Free food, free place to sleep, free education. What isn’t there to love about it?”

She laughed and shook her head. “You are speaking with a friend here. I fought with two mages once, one of them was even an apostate. You can be honest with me.”

“I am being honest. I only mentioned the good things. There are still Templars that use their power over us to keep us in line, families ripped apart so we are less likely to rebel. They don’t like us getting too close, if you know what I mean,” Anders winked. “Not that it stops us from quick trysts in dark corners. We are mostly healthy adults, you know.”

“So you escaped? Why come to Amaranthine?” she asked. 

The mage seemed to think for a minute, tapping his chin as he looked outside. “I needed a boat. Wanted to see just how far away I could get before they caught up with me this time. I’m surprised you don’t ask why I would want to.”

“The bad things outweigh the good, I imagine. Besides, I know what it’s like to feel trapped in a prison everyone reminds you is home.”

They sat in silence as the carriage rolled on. Lyse idly picked at the bandage on her neck, the skin feeling itchy underneath. Anders noticed and leaned forward, his long fingers gently removing it. “It might not hurt to let it breathe.”

“And here I thought you were worried it would get infected on the way to Denerim?” Lyse arched a brow, grinning at him as he grinned at her.

“Well, it  _ is _ still healing and you  _ are _ in a carriage. It’s safe to say that maybe your risk for infection isn’t as high as I made it out to be.”

“I should thank you. I know you did it to stay out of the Circle for as long as possible, but you still helped me and for that, I am in your debt,” she sighed, leaning her head back and enjoying the tickle of the breeze as it brushed the wound. Her fingers twirled the dark strands of her hair, pulling the long locks away from the tender skin of her neck.

“You might regret saying those words, my Lady,” he laughed. “I won’t hesitate on reminding you.”

The two of them talked back and forth for the duration of their journey. Anders told hilarious stories of his time in the Circle and Lyse went on about her travels during the civil war. The more she spoke about Morrigan and how she and Wynne had helped, the more relaxed around her he became. Lyse found that she rather liked the eccentric mage, though he certainly opened her eyes to the ways of the Circle and how Templars treated their wards. She would talk to Alistair about it, perhaps ask Irving himself if what Anders said was true. She knew there was tension between him and Greagoir, perhaps these tales added to it.

 

***

 

After three days of travel, the walls of Denerim were finally in sight. Merchants had joined them somewhere along the way, their donkeys braying to the horses and their carts clattering with goods. The few times Lyse was allowed out to stretch her legs, she had conversed with their new traveling companions. She had always been good at making friends, and the common folk seemed to love when a noble took any notice of them. Besides, if Alistair’s rise to power proved anything, it was that having favor with the little man that normally others would overlook would benefit you later on.

Right before they reached the gates to the city, Lyse was forced back into the carriage where Anders reapplied her bandage. The wound was nearly healed and was nothing more than a large, angry red patch of skin that should resolve after another few magical doses, but she didn’t want to imagine the worry she would hear from Alistair should he see it before she could explain it wasn’t as bad as it looked. While he worked on her neck, she stared out of the windows of the carriage to examine the city she had not seen in months. 

The main battle had taken place here over a year ago. Arl Eamon had called forth a Landsmeet in order to get the other nobles of Ferelden to agree Alistair’s claim to the throne. The meeting had not gone as planned, resulting in all of them being forcefully removed from the city and left with few options. Well, Lyse’s travelling companions had been forcefully removed. Lyse had been handed over to Rendon Howe, who had wanted her for his son, Thomas. She shivered at the thought, quickly skipping through that ordeal to when she had managed to finally escape that prison. 

As the knights of Denerim searched through the city for the woman that had killed their new arl and son within their own home, Lyse was sleeping comfortably in a warm bed in a brothel without fear they would find her. When they got too close for comfort, all she had to do was make a quick trip to the alienage, where she made fast friends with an outspoken elf named Shianni. With Isabela’s help (a lovely pirate that had taken her under her wing), Lyse was able to drive off the slavers that Loghain had allowed into port that were plaguing the City Elves, gaining Alistair new unlikely allies in the process. Giving the elves instructions on how to make effective poisons they could use when Eamon and Alistair planned their siege had been a last minute thought, but one that had helped them in the long run.

All in all, Lyse had spent well over a fortnight within the walls of Denerim left to her own devices and trusting the few new friends she had made within the city to keep her safe. Isabela eventually left the port with her in tow, dropping her off on shore not too far away so that she could travel quickly to where the armies were gathering and preparing to starve Loghain and his men out. Thanks to her efforts and work within the city, it didn’t take much time at all before they were able to crash through the gates and meet Loghain face to face.

But the effects of the siege were still being long felt by the people of the city. The outer walls were nearly repaired to their prior strength, but several shops were still closed up, their damage too expensive for their owners to afford. Beggars lined up outside the Chantry, the only building that was fully repaired, waiting to be blessed and maybe fed if they had anything left to spare. She couldn’t see the entrance to the alienage from here, but if she had to guess, it was still in disarray, if it had been touched at all. 

When she could take no more of the sightseeing while making their way to her estate, she motioned for them to stop. “Come with me,” she said as she took Anders’ hand and lead him out of the carriage. She needed to move and to stretch her legs from being cooped up for so long, and she would rather not be walking the streets alone if she could help it. Naturally, two Templars flanked them.

“They hate you, you know,” Anders whispered to her as she guided him through the marketplace, losing herself to the sights and sounds. Children ran around chasing kittens while bakers set out their fresh breads. The scent of newly baked pies sitting out to cool wafted through the air, making her mouth water. 

“Let them hate me. You are a friend, and friends stroll through the market together,” she smiled, pulling at her coin purse and paying for a couple of the small pies that had caught her attention. She handed one over to the mage, who took it graciously. 

“I would say you didn’t have to do that, but sadly I have no money and I have tragically lived in a pieless world,” he said as he lifted the flaky crust to his nose and inhaled. “Oh Sweet Maker!”

Lyse couldn’t help but laugh as she watched him take a bite of the sweet confection, eyes rolling in his head as he moaned at the taste. “A pieless world? Andraste’s ass, that  _ is _ a tragedy!”

The Templars continued to follow them, garnering some attention from the locals in the market. Most of the people gave the pair a wide berth, hiding their faces from the mage that they were so sure would sprout into an abomination at any time. Others stared with open mouths and hushed whispers, but Anders didn’t seem to mind one bit. He took his freedom when he could and enjoyed it while it lasted. 

Before long, Garavel found them and urged Lyse to return to the carriage so they could make it to the estate before nightfall. She reluctantly followed him, but only because she knew she would have to stay within the city for a few more days and that would give her plenty of time to check out the armory to find something suitable for Varel back at Vigil’s Keep. Even Anders was hesitant to leave the hustle and bustle of the streets, claiming to have a need for more of the delicious pie from earlier, but he stayed close to Lyse’s side. 

Nearly twenty minutes later, their group arrived at the estate.  _ Her _ estate. It’s tall walls and stony facade cast long shadows over the courtyard where the carriage pulled to a stop. She had only been here once since she became the Arlessa of Amaranthine, and that was only to remove most of the Howe artifacts and relics. Most of them were sitting below in the storerooms within the dungeon, some of them had been moved back to Amaranthine, and some had even been sold or given away to those that had been wrongly imprisoned by Rendon. The last Lyse had seen, the estate had been nearly barren.

Outside, large flags with her own sigil, a bear on a blue field framed by green laurels, drifted lazily in the gentle breeze. She did her best to ignore them as she did at the Keep, but did they really have to be so large? Once she was inside the estate, it became clear that someone had wanted her to feel at home. Large, colorful tapestries draped down the walls and thick blue curtains that matched the rug under her feet billowed around the tall, open windows. And everywhere she looked, there was the blasted bear.

Lyse had wanted to get rid of the sigil completely and start from scratch. Alistair had even supported the idea, but it had been Varel’s suggestion to merge the laurels of the Couslands with the bear of the Howes, even if there weren’t any Howes left in the arling. He argued that it would be a service to the people of Amaranthine, a sign of good faith that Lyse wouldn’t come in as a tyrant and change everything, but she also knew it would be much cheaper to just keep the stupid bear and add some laurels to it. She had thought it would be easy to handle. As a girl, she never paid much attention to her family’s crest waving in the breeze, but then again she didn’t have laurels burned into her skin to remind her of the worst experience of her life on a daily basis.

She had just finished showing Anders and the Templars to the room he could stay in for the duration of their stay when she heard the sound of a procession approaching. Lyse warily looked out the window from the second story of her mansion to see the king’s guard lining up outside her estate and Alistair with his golden crown strolling towards her doors. A knot formed within her stomach and her heart raced within her chest as she straightened her dress and lifted her chin in preparation. With her back straight and head held high, Lyse descended the stairs to face the man she had not spoken to in nearly six months. 

“Your Majesty,” she bowed low, her eyes looking down at his feet as was proper. Even when she stood again at his request, she did not meet his gaze for fear of what she would see. Disappointment? Resentment? Guilt? None of it seemed pleasing at the moment. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Lyse felt the king regard her silently as she looked past him towards Eamon who had just entered the room. She could worry about what Alistair was thinking all she wanted, but seeing that man walk into her home was a kick in the gut. 

“Apparently it puts me in a better light to personally greet our guests as they come into the city,” the king replied, though none of the venom in his voice was directed at her. Instead, he held out his arm for her to take, a reserved smile on his lips. Lyse looked between him and Eamon before accepting the offer and walking towards the rear of the estate where the gardens were kept. “No need to be so formal, Lyse,” he whispered as they walked through the hall.

Easy for him to say. He was the king, and despite their closeness during the war, the last time they had spoken so intimately had been a complete disaster. She could feel Eamon’s gaze burning into her as she followed Alistair to the gardens, casting a swift glance behind only to prove herself right. Somehow she got the feeling that he wasn’t entirely pleased with his ward’s choice in being here at this moment. 

Silently, the pair strolled along the carefully manicured path, neither of them saying a word as guards flanked them. Lyse could feel the tension in Alistair’s arm, letting her know that he wasn’t as at ease as he seemed to be. When they had reached the center of the garden, she reclaimed her arm and took to looking at the flowers as if they had interested her. Anything to ease the thrumming in her chest or the anxiety coursing through her. 

“It’s good to see you, Lyse,” Alistair said shyly. She could hear the rustle of his clothing as he reached to rub behind his neck. “You look well. I mean, well enough for someone that was nearly assassinated a few days ago,” he went on, stammering with his nervousness. 

She turned to him, giving him a once over and nodding. “Nobility suits you,” she replied. It was true. He was just as handsome as the day she had first met him scouring the ashen fields of Ostagar in search of survivors, though now he was dressed in expensive, filigreed silks and wore a golden crown upon his head. Under all of that, there was a presence about him, a commanding air. It was good that he was taking the task of being royalty seriously. 

Awkward silence followed, such as it did when two lovers turned strangers met up after months apart, if Lyse had to guess. Neither of them wanted to be the first to bring up the nug in the room, or garden in this case, but neither of them seemed capable of small talk either. 

“How is Amaranthine? Is it to your liking?” Alistair finally asked, his light hazel eyes looking into hers. 

“I would say it is to my liking as being King of Ferelden is to yours,” she replied, a small smile playing at her lips. 

He laughed, a sound she had not realized she had missed so dearly until it danced in her ears. “So, dreadfully boring. Unless someone tries to kill you, of course. Do you know who they are or why they attacked you?”

Lyse nodded, looking out at the blooming roses. “He is of little concern, if you are worried. I am capable of handling him.”

“I don’t doubt that. You were always one to take care of your own business,” he said, looking down at his feet. She swallowed hard at his response, her guilt tasting like bile in her mouth. Again silence hung heavily in the air between them, pregnant with the unspoken words that both held tightly between their teeth. 

“Might I ask, my King, why have you called a Landsmeet on such short notice?” Lyse wrapped her arms around her and turned to him. The silence was unbearable and if she could get him to talk about something else,  _ anything _ else, it would be better than simply standing in the garden under the heat of the sun surrounded by buzzing bees.

“As the Arlessa of Amaranthine? No,” he shook his head. “But as a friend, I think I am allowed to bend the rules.”

“Eamon doesn’t seem to like it that you’re here. Is it because you planned on bending those rules?” she asked, arching a dark brow.

Alistair rubbed the back of his head again and let out a long breath. “Don’t worry about him. That’s-” he started, searching for his words. “Just ignore him.”

She could do that. Lyse hadn’t much liked the old man since her falling out with Alistair. If she were honest, she hadn’t been a fan of him when Alistair had told her about his upbringing, but if he was willing to forgive and forget, then she was willing to give him a chance at a real first impression. It had been all well and good from the moment she had found Andraste’s ashes and healed him from the poison that had put him in an endless sleep, but the moment she had hurt Alistair, that apparently nullified everything she had done before.

“So, if you are here as a  _ friend, _ ” she stressed the last word because it was a surprise to her that he would even use it. “Why the Landsmeet?”

“Not long after my coronation, I began receiving word from the south near Ostagar. Chasind have been raiding some of the smaller towns and villages,” he replied. 

She furrowed her brow. “Chasind tend to raid every now and then, that’s nothing new.”

“That was the initial response. Teagan sent a few men to help those around Calon that were being affected, and even to Lothering,” his face grew serious. “There’s nothing left of Lothering now. There wasn’t much after the battle at Ostagar anyway, but the Chasind decimated what little there was.”

“But why would they be attacking these people? They have lived near us in relative peace since the Second Blight.”

His eyes turned to hers, flickering with anger as he clenched his fist. “I sent a correspondent to speak with them. They returned his head and said they wanted what was promised to them.”

“And what was that?” 

“Loghain promised them Ostagar and the land surrounding it after the war was over. I had promised it to the Dalish for their aid in defeating him, but apparently the Chasind were too much for them and they left,” he explained. 

This news surprised her. Loghain was a patriot through and through, it had been his fear that Cailen would leave his daughter to wed Celene for a more powerful alliance. The teyrn wasn’t keen on uniting his home to the people he had fought in his youth to be free of. While Lyse and most other Fereldens could agree with his stance, his methods were barbaric at best and ambitious at worst. To think he would have been willing to sacrifice part of Ferelden, even a small part, to the Chasind seemed unlike the man.

“Why would he do that?” she asked as she pondered the possibilities. 

Alistair shook his head. “The best we could come up with was that the Chasind were a very real threat, one Cailen had initially ignored. The problem is, every king before me all the way to the Second Blight stopped keep record of their numbers.”

“A smart thing to do apparently.”

He smirked, “To be fair, they had been scattered to the wind and became less of a problem until now.” His smile faded and his eyes looked off into the distance. “Now they are organized and they have control of Ostagar and the Korcari Wilds.”

“And we are still recovering from a war that depleted our numbers and resources,” she finished for him. This was lovely. Loghain had not only brought Ferelden to its weakest since before Orlais had taken over, he had practically set them up to be overtaken again. Lyse knew that the Fereldens outnumbered the Chasind easily, but not everyone was a fighter and a Chasind barbarian was a beast on the battlefield. She supposed she should be glad that Empress Celene was preoccupied with her cousin at the moment, otherwise she was sure Orlais would have jumped at the chance to take back what had been taken from them.

“Such as it is.”

“And you called this Landsmeet because?”

“I can’t just go to war with the Chasind, but I cannot allow them to lay claim to a territory that belongs to Ferelden, I need the support of our people, their trust,” he said, setting his lips into a firm line. It was a relief to see the man taking his role as king so seriously. He had come a long way from being the naive almost Templar and Grey Warden idolizer in such a short time, it was a wonder he hadn’t changed completely.

“Have you been able to determine how many Chasind are dwelling within the Korcari Wilds right now?” 

He shook his head. “No. I sent a scouting mission a few weeks ago and they never reported back. I fear they have been captured or killed.”

That would present a problem. So many good men died fighting each other last year, and those that were capable of fighting were scattered all over the country helping to rebuild in the damages. Such was the way of war, and for one that had been so short, they had lost far too many people. Bandits roamed the highways, preying upon unwitting travellers that had nary a sovereign to their name and now an unknown amount of Chasind plagued the southern region where Lyse just knew the nobles wouldn’t likely give up their protection. 

“I suppose you are hoping for support from the Hero of Ferelden to rally the lords and ladies to you cause?” she asked.

Alistair looked at her, his face a mix of emotions she cared not to decipher as he nodded. “The help would be welcome. Even Eamon cannot deny that.”

“Then I shall speak in favor of you tomorrow,” she assured him, not that she wouldn’t have even if he hadn’t come seeking her help. 

She watched the relief spread over his face as she held his gaze, pleased that she was able to help him find some comfort. If she knew him, and she was sure that she knew him well, Alistair was most likely full of anxiety at the prospect of addressing the nobility tomorrow. Lyse nearly reached out to him in another act of comfort, a habit that she had formed during countless nights after battles and betrayals, but she held back. It would do no good to bring up the past, even in a simple gesture.

Alistair seemed to think otherwise.

“Lyse,” he started, cheeks burning and fingers writhing against each other. “I-I think we should talk. About what happened…”

She should have been prepared, should have known that he wanted her alone more than just to discuss the matter of the Landsmeet. Eamon’s judgemental gaze had been her second clue, preceded only by the rose that Alistair had sent her days ago with a letter explaining his urgent need to speak with her. “Didn’t we say enough?”

“Yes-wait, no,” he stammered, reaching for her hand as she turned to walk away. Emotion caught in her throat, threatening to choke her as she held back her stupid tears that seemed to come out when she least wanted them to. “I never apologized to you. I never-”

“There was nothing for you to apologize for then, and there isn’t now,” she told him, biting her lip as she looked at the ground to avoid his earnest eyes. “And even if there was, you were forgiven long ago.”

“Lyse, please,” he begged, his hand cupping the side of her face. She could feel him longing to tilt her chin to look at him, but she wouldn’t,  _ couldn’t. _ She wasn’t ready and she wasn’t sure when she would be. “I was a fool then, young and stupid and I didn’t understand.”

No, he hadn’t. And it wasn’t his fault that, in his grief, he had lashed out at her in anger, his words cutting her deeper than any sword ever could. It wasn’t his fault that he had felt betrayed by her. The guilt and the blame lay completely on her shoulders. He was young and foolish at the time, but so had she been.

“Alistair, I cannot do this right now. Please,” she choked, holding back a sob as she rushed from the garden. She knew he was following close behind her, reaching for her to try and bring whatever comfort he thought she needed. Comfort she longed to take from him, but couldn’t bring herself to do so.

“Lyse,” he called as she reached her door. He put his hand upon hers that was gripping the handle with white knuckles. “Would you please hear me out?” 

She said nothing, worrying that opening her mouth would cause her to say things she would later regret, but she nodded. 

He let out the breath he had been holding and relaxed, pulling his hand away from hers. “I was wrong. I know that now, and I knew it then too. I was just too…” Alistair paused. “Hurt. Betrayed. I made it about me, and for that I am truly sorry.”

Lyse clenched her jaw to the point of aching as she forced herself to keep her tears at bay. “I told you, there is nothing for me to forgive.”

“I miss you, Lyse. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret telling you to leave. I made a mistake.”

With the little resolve she had left within her, Lyse opened the door to her room and passed by him. She paused, only a moment, as she looked into his eyes and whispered, “So did I.” 

It hurt her to see the pain of her words cut him as he came to realize that she truly wasn’t ready to speak of it. She shut the door behind her, crushing her fist to her mouth as she sobbed, gently sinking to the floor. People lied when they said that time heals all wounds, Lyse knew that as she heard Alistair lean against the door that separated them. Time didn’t heal anything, it only ever made the pain last.


	4. Chapter 4

Nobility from all over Ferelden mingled in the great hall of the palace, chatting with each other and gossiping over anything that held their fancy. Colorful finery adorned all the guests of the Landsmeet, each one slightly more elaborate than the one before it and all a materialistic symbol of wealth that Lyse did not find aesthetically pleasing. Not that she had ever been one to care about expensive silks; she was far more at home wearing her leathers with her long brown hair pulled back in a tight braid. Unfortunately, Varel most likely would have had a fit if he had heard that his arlessa had chosen anything other than this tight bodiced purple dress that hugged her breasts too tight and hindered her breathing. 

Why was it that men always had the more reasonable clothes again?

Despite her discomfort, Lyse was well trained to hold a smile and bow and curtsey and do everything befitting a true lady thanks to her mother. She flitted from noble to noble, asking about their family whose names she didn’t bother to remember or to ask of their health, not that she cared. It was all a show anyway. Older nobility often told her of their young, strapping sons that would make her an excellent husband. Younger nobility, closer to her age, put themselves on display as though they were a peacock trying to impress a mate. It was all quite silly to her considering how much trouble she had given her own father on the subject of her marriage before he had given up. She simply wasn’t one to be wooed by the entitled. 

“Sister!” Lyse turned at the familiar sound of her brother’s voice calling out to her and a wide smile lit up her face as she rushed through the crowd to greet him. Fergus embraced her, cupping her face in his hands as he tilted her neck this way and that. “I heard you were almost killed.”

“Word travels fast, it seems,” she pulled herself away. “But as you can see I am alive and it has healed.”

Fergus glared at her skeptically, his brown eyes looking at the bright pink skin that, nearly a week ago, had been rotting off. Thank the Maker for capable mages. “Who was it, do you know?”

Lyse glanced around them and then took her brother’s hand and led him to a quieter corner away from nosey listeners. The last thing she wanted was to alert all the nobility of Ferelden that she was housing a traitor’s son in her own keep. “You won’t believe me when I tell you,” she spoke softly, looking out into the crowd as though they were just two people conversing like everyone else.

“Was it a Crow? I thought you were friends with a Crow?” he asked, taking a glass of wine offered to him by one of the elven servants that passed through. 

Lyse took one as well, thanking her and offering a few gold coins that the elf graciously slipped into her pocket. She wasn’t quick to forget her friends. 

“Nathaniel Howe.”

Just as she had suspected, Fergus nearly spat out his drink at the mention of his childhood friend’s name. His eyes went wide and he choked for a moment before taking another long drink. “I will kill that sonofa-”

“Fergus, he is my prisoner to do with as I please,” she stopped him. “He wasn’t successful, obviously, so I see no need to execute him for his crime.”

“From that scar on your neck, it looks like he came too close. I would rather not lose more family to the Howes if I can help it,” he said, his voice faltering. It was still painful to talk about, even for him.  _ Especially _ for him. While they had both lost her parents and Lyse had been forced to leave Ser Gilmore to the fate of defending the gate, Fergus had been miles away as his wife and son were slaughtered. Even now, a year after the war was won, he had still not taken another wife, nor courted any ladies as far as Lyse could tell. Oriana had been his best friend, that one person he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with. His son was only eight years old and his entire world. Of course he would be livid at the thought that his last living family member had almost fallen to yet another Howe. Perhaps it was a good thing she had never mentioned what she had endured while she had been captured by Rendon and Thomas. She wouldn’t put it past him to hire a necromancer from Nevarra to bring those two back somehow and kill them all over again.

“You can thank Ranger later. As for this scar, it looks worse than it was,” she lied. “He only nicked me and it became infected. Thanks to a mage, I will be good as new in a day or so.”

“That doesn’t mean I still don’t want to kill him. At least allow me to visit with him, when next I come,” he said, draining the glass of wine in his hand.

“If I still have him imprisoned, then absolutely,” she nodded.

“And why wouldn’t he be? Save for the obvious removal of his head?”

She was still conflicted on that herself. Nate had always been more honorable than his younger brother, softer somehow. In the few memories she had of him, he had never been outright cruel to her and he had loved his younger sister, Delilah. Lyse hoped that showing him mercy would not only give him reason to rethink the vengeance he wished to enact upon her, but gain her favor in the eyes of the nobility within Amaranthine. Her brother didn’t need to know that though. “I could always send him away to become a Grey Warden. They are always in need of recruits.”

Fergus snorted, fingering his glass as he shook his head. “Too light a punishment for a man like him. To think I had once called him  _ friend. _ ”

“Lady Cousland, a pleasure to see you again,” First Enchanter Irving smiled, interrupting her brother’s train of thought as he took her hand in his own. “I am sure that you are tired of us asking after your health, but your encounter with an assassin has been the talk of the day,” he went on, his eyes looking at the scar on her neck.

“First Enchanter,” Lyse nodded her head in respect. “It is thanks to one of your mages that I survived at all. I am to apologize for Anders’ delay in arriving back at the tower. Your Templars wished to have him back days ago, but I insisted he stay with me through my recovery,” she informed him, turning to her brother who waved her on. 

“Ah yes. Ser Greagoir was not pleased, but I see it could not be helped,” the old mage smiled. “I am more amazed he did not try to escape once you arrived here in Denerim.”

“I’ve kept him busy, and the Templars have not faltered in their duties,” she assured him. “How go the reparations at Kinloch Hold?”

“The tower is still in disarray, but thanks to you we have both the Templars and the Mages to help rebuild,” he replied. That was good, though she wondered at how good relations were between Irving and Greagoir at the moment. The knight commander had given up on the tower after Uldred had released his demons within it to control the mages, sending for the Rite of Annulment to kill everyone inside. Had it not been for Lyse, Irving would not be standing here today.

She was just about to ask about Dagna, the odd little dwarf that wanted to study magic, when a bell tolled to signal the beginning of the Landsmeet. Lyse bid the mage goodbye and made her way to her seat beside her brother just in time to watch Alistair take to the floor. 

Today, he was wearing brilliant armor, similar to that of his half-brother’s though he had small griffons etched into the shining metal to represent his connection to the Grey Wardens. He hadn’t spoken to her today, noticeably giving her the space she needed while he mingled with the other nobles that demanded his attention, an act she had been grateful for after yesterday. Eamon stood behind him while Isolde bantered with some noblewoman Lyse didn’t know, his eyes watching the King carefully. 

The hall soon began to quiet down as more people took notice of their king waiting for them. The elven servants soon disappeared altogether and the great wooden doors were pushed shut to prevent interruption. She had been to a few Landsmeets before, traveling with her father to watch the proceedings, but usually children were left out to keep noise to a minimum. Her father had always said they were usually dull affairs where Banns and Arls would squabble over minor disputes or the king would wish to pass a law or legislation that everyone would have to vote on. So far, however, the first Landsmeet she had participated in hadn’t been boring at all, and this one might prove to be at least somewhat entertaining.

“Friends, people of Ferelden, I have called you here to discuss the growing Chasind problem in the south,” Alistair began, his voice taking on a tone of a leader. It made Lyse proud to see him doing so well considering how apprehensive he had been when Eamon had wished him to take the role. 

Whispers spread through the nobility, and those of the southern region were particularly more vocal, as they had every right to be. He had just won favor among them for acknowledging their plight alone. The nobility of the north, however, were far more skeptical.

“Their attacks have increased at an alarming rate since my coronation, and the number of innocents being killed is rising. As king, it is my duty to protect those people and I intend to do so,” he went on, his eyes searching the crowd for support. 

“The Chasind have always raided the southern villages, even since I was a lad,” one of the lords from across the hall spoke up. “What makes them a greater threat now?”

Other lords and ladies began to barrage Alistair with their concerns, many of them bringing up valid arguments as to why they shouldn’t send men to the Korcari Wilds to deal with the issue. Others, like her brother, sat quietly to observe and speculate; to see where the majority rule would go. Lyse had no doubt that if she lent Alistair her support, her brother would follow without question, but she couldn’t be so sure about the rest of the nobility. Those of the south were unwilling to lend their knights in fear that they would leave their homes defenseless. Those of the north were skeptical that the Chasind were even an issue that had to be dealt with. And still there were the few that were loyal to Loghain that worried about depleting their forces further and allowing Orlais to strike upon them at any time. 

It was clear that the Landsmeet was not going in favor of Alistair’s plan to protect those that did not have the resources to protect themselves. How quickly these people seemed to forget just how valuable the little man was when they chose to rise up. Did they truly misremember how it had been the elves of the alienage that had helped them so easily recapture the city of Denerim? 

Lyse began to have a headache as nobles argued back and forth between each other, bringing up bandits to Dalish and anything else that could be used as an excuse to why they could not lend their people. Meanwhile, Fergus, Teagan, and Lyse remained quiet to allow them to let out their steam.

“And what say you, my Lordship? You haven’t spoken a word since this began,” one of the smaller Banns asked, pointing towards Fergus. 

Her brother inhaled, looking to her as if she held the answers he sought. “I say that both sides present valid arguments and that I must take time to consider my options,” he replied after a moment of careful deliberation. He  _ was _ still rebuilding Castle Cousland, after all, and he had spent much money in hiring new servants to fill the void left by Rendon after his slaughter. A good answer. 

“And you, my Lady? What say you?” Now the question had been directed at her, putting her on the spot to speak her mind. Not that she would speak the  _ exact _ words she wanted to, the nobility frowned upon such thoughts. 

Lyse stood and looked out among the people that had silenced themselves just to hear her speak. She was the Hero of Ferelden, and whether or not they agreed with her stance on the matter, they would listen to her words with respect. As her gaze drifted from person to person, it finally fell upon Alistair. Though they had parted ways in pain yesterday, she found the hope in his eyes prompting her to deliver on her promise to him. 

“Your Majesty,” she began, loud and clear. “You have but to ask of Amaranthine, and she is yours.”

Stunned silence followed her statement, mostly because the other nobles of Ferelden were not sure how to follow up with such a profound moment of unwavering loyalty to their king. Alistair smiled at her, giving her the slightest of nods in which she returned. They may no longer be the friends or lovers they once were, but he was her king and there wasn’t a place in this world she would not gladly follow him to if he asked her, no matter their past.

“I would follow in my sister’s statement. Highever is yours, your Majesty,” Fergus stood, showing his own support.

“You could have said that earlier,” she whispered to him as they stood in favor of their king.

“And you could have made me look like less of an ass,” he retorted, bringing a smile to her face. 

In the end, Arl Teagan had pledged Redcliffe to their cause, but the majority ruled against a confrontation with the Chasind. It was a loss that Lyse knew Alistair felt deep within him, his desire to help the people overridden by their desire to protect themselves. Not that anyone could blame them considering the current state of Ferelden, but even Lyse was disappointed her support hadn’t garnered more votes in his favor.

She waited until everyone filed out of the hall, saying their goodbyes or offering to meet at the local tavern nearby, before making her way to Alistair. He was sitting upon his throne, speaking with Eamon with his head resting against one fist. At the sight of her, he immediately stood, his eyes wide and mouth opening and closing with words that wouldn’t come out. 

Lyse bowed. “Your Majesty, if I may?” she asked, lifting her head and walking confidently past Eamon. She could feel his eyes burning into her, but she ignored him as Alistair had told her to. He wasn’t her concern right now.

“Of course, my Lady.” He held out a hand to usher her into a side room where a war table stood. She noticed that he had already placed possible locations of the Chasind on the map, and several pieces lay everywhere to show the current forces of Ferelden. Behind her, Eamon and Arl Teagan followed, as did several knights. The door shut once everyone was inside, Alistair looking up at her hopefully.

“Perhaps I could offer a possible solution to our problem,” she offered, looking over the table and forming a plan. When it had become clear that the Landsmeet would not vote in Alistair’s favor, her mind immediately began to work out a way that they could prove the threat the Chasind posed to them at this time. If Alistair could prove that the Chasind were uniting under one leader, becoming organized in the process, then the nobles would have no choice but to listen to his concerns. 

“I am listening.” His voice held an urgency to it, seeking any solution that would help the people in the south.

“Send in another scouting party. Very small, no more than five people. They would be harder to track, especially if they have any ranger skills,” she suggested. 

“Every scouting party that has been sent into those wilds has not come back. It is too risky,” Eamon stated matter-of-factly. “It is clear we cannot afford to lose more men.”

Lyse glared at him, heated words held at the tip of her tongue. “Those scouting parties didn’t have  _ me. _ ”

Alistair balked, standing straight immediately and shaking his head. “No. You are an Arlessa now. I won’t send you there. It would be suicide!”

“Not if we do this the right way,” she shot back, turning her attention back to the table. She began moving pieces around from Highever, Redcliffe, and Amaranthine into different locations in the south. It took a few different positions before she was finally satisfied with what she could work with. “You have only sent scouts, yes? The Chasind know these wilds better than any of our soldiers do, but even they cannot ignore an armed force marching on their territory. So we create a distraction.” She motioned to the pieces she had moved. 

“The people have spoken-” Eamon began, but Alistair hushed him with a wave of his hand. And this was why the old man disliked her. Despite the falling out between her and Alistair, the king still deferred to her judgement over his. That put power in her hands, power that Eamon seemed all too eager to hoard for himself.

“The beauty of this plan is that we aren’t calling upon their people. My brother, Teagan, and I have all agreed to lend our knights to any cause our king wishes. This isn’t a call to war, only a show of force. My brother and I together can send at least 2,000 men. Add another 500 or so from Teagan, and we could easily outnumber however many Chasind are within the Korcari Wilds.”

The men looked on and considered her suggestion and bickering to themselves on whether or not 2,500 men would be enough to scare the Chasind off. Lyse knew that wouldn’t be the case, but it would make them wary. If they thought that Alistair would rise against them, they would be put on guard. And that was what helped with the second part of her plan. 

“The Chasind won’t be able to ignore a force approaching them. If they are staying near Ostagar as a way to defend themselves, they will watch you and your men carefully. With their focus on you, four or five people will be able to slip into the woods undetected. I could count the number we are dealing with, maybe even free your scouts if they are indeed alive, and the southerners will see your march on their lands as a means to chase off the immediate threat,” she went on, becoming more excited with the prospect of being out in the thick of things once again. It had been too long since she had been able to wield her bow against a real foe, not some stuffed dummy that couldn’t fight her back. 

“That just might work,” Teagan finally said as he studied the map. She smiled up at him, glad that he had agreed with her over his brother and then turned her attention to Alistair. 

“What say you, my King?” she asked, studying his face as he studied the map.

“I say it’s as good a plan as any we have, and it is better than waiting for them to strike a serious blow against us,” he nodded. “You have my support.”

“I believe it would be wise to think about this before rising to the occasion. There are still many things to consider before we pledge ourselves to this daunting task,” Eamon disagreed, though Lyse wasn’t sure if it was because he disliked the plan, or because he disliked her influence over Alistair. Either way, the old man was wearing her nerves thin.

“Do you have a better idea?” Alistair asked. When the counselor could not answer, Alistair nodded in affirmation that he did not. “We have few options. Lyse, whatever you need, it is yours. Do you know who you would take?”

If she could pick anyone to go with her, she would have chosen Sten. The no-nonsense Qunari was an unstoppable force on the battlefield, but he was long since gone to Par Vollen to rejoin his people. Morrigan would have been her next choice as she grew up within the Korcari Wilds, but the witch was nowhere to be found. Leliana was in Orlais as far as she knew and Zevran in Antiva. Wynn was too old, not that it had slowed her down before, but she didn’t want to bring the woman with her if it could be avoided. 

“Well, Ranger would come with me naturally,” she began and could feel Eamon roll his eyes from across the room. 

“Your dog? I thought you wanted four or five  _ people, _ ” Alistair mentioned. 

“Well, Ranger counts as four or five people on his own, you know this.” She tapped her fingers on the table as she thought harder. “Oh! Is Oghren still a member of your army?”

Alistair stared at her in disbelief, mouth hung open as if she had just blasphemed Andraste by shitting on her ashes. A thought that was more welcoming now considering the way Eamon regarded her. “You will  _ not _ take that drunken-”

“He is a friend, and I know how he fights. All you have to do is pay him in ale and the job will get done,” she explained. Arguing with him like this was much better than sharing in small talk, she decided. It felt more like the old times when she would come up with a crazy plan and have to convince him it was worth doing. Most of the time it worked in her favor.  _ Most _ of the time.

“I have several knights that are far better suited to escort you through the Korcari Wilds. Men that won’t alert the Chasind to your presence from constant belching and body odor.” Alistair wrinkled his nose in the way she adored, bringing a smile to her lips. 

“I’ll make him behave. I have all the spirits the dwarf could want. Dangle a bottle over the water, and I bet he’ll get clean.”

“Fine,” he tossed his hands in the air and shook his head. “You have Oghren and Ranger. Who else?”

“I’ll talk with Irving and Greagoir and see if I can have Anders come with me as well,” she said, almost forgetting about her newest friend. Lyse doubted he would complain at the prospect of a new adventure...and a right to throw lightning without restraint.

“The runaway mage? Are you not the least bit concerned that he will leave you once you are in the wilds?” Eamon spoke up, listening to their conversation to find any hole in her plan. It was a valid question, but she wasn’t worried so long as she kept him out of the Circle for as long as possible.

“He’s a friend and has saved my life. We will be miles from some of the best healers, it would be wise to bring someone as adept at potions and healing as he is in case we get into a confrontation that doesn’t quite go in our favor,” she pointed out. 

Alistair sat there for a few minutes, head bowed in contemplation as he considered her choices. They weren’t ideal, Lyse couldn’t deny that, but they were better than nothing at all or traveling with a group of men she did not know. Oghren was crude, but he was harmless towards her. Anders had been her caretaker, and though she found it difficult to trust being so close to a man, it was easy with him. She wouldn’t have been able to say the same for strangers. 

His hazel eyes met hers from across the table, reading her as though he could see every thought going through her mind. She couldn’t hide it from him, he knew what she had gone through, and though he hated to send her into the wilds with this odd bunch, he wouldn’t push her to choose his way. “My only concern is you having to lead them through the swamps. Allow me to send another of my scouts, one nearly as capable as you, to split the work. It would give you a better chance to keep an eye on the mage as well.”

Lyse considered this and nodded in agreement. Another skilled scout or hunter would make the task much simpler. She smiled at him, more at ease in her element and knowing he felt it too when he returned the smile. Closure or not, they were okay right now.

“If that will be all,” Teagan said, jotting some notes down on a scroll to record this business. “I suggest Alistair’s men meet at Vigil’s Keep in a week’s time. Highever’s men too, if you can talk to your brother soon enough. My men will meet you near Lothering.” The others nodded in agreement and Lyse knew she would have to seek out the First Enchanter and Knight Commander before they left the city if she wanted to bring Anders along with her. Just imagining his reaction was making her smile as she walked towards the door. 

“Lady Cousland, might I accompany you?” Eamon asked, approaching her from behind. Blindsided by his request, she had little else to do but accept his escort out of the room and out of earshot of Alistair. 

They walked silently through the great hall, nodding at others as they passed while Lyse wondered what the older man wished to speak to her about. Clearly he didn’t want Alistair to assume anything, or others for that matter, for he waited until they were nearly to the entrance of the castle when he stopped her.

“I trust all is well with Isolde and Connor?” She asked. 

“They are well, yes. Connor has been doing exceptionally well at the Circle, thank you for asking,” he replied kindly enough, though it was clear he wasn’t here for small talk. “May an old man offer some words of wisdom?”

It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t tell her anyway. “Of course, my Lord. I would be honored,” she smiled sweetly, lacing her words with the contempt she felt for the man. 

“Let Alistair go.”

Ah, there it was. He knew how to return the scorn, and somehow knowing that he was displeased with her validated her feelings towards him. The man only knew Alistair’s side of the story, and months ago he was still raw and angry with her as he had every right to be, but never once did good old Eamon ask  _ her _ about anything. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t hurt each  _ other _ in the process.

“I do believe that the relationship between Alistair and I is our own,” she replied through gritted teeth. 

“Be that as it may, it is my concern when it comes to him not wishing to take a bride or produce an heir.”

Lyse stopped at that, surprised by his words. “Alistair won’t take a wife? Perhaps none of them suit his fancy.”

“None of them are you, my Lady,” he said, his eyes narrowed. 

“That is hardly any fault of mine.” Lyse rolled her eyes and shook her head. She was not going to have this conversation with him. “If Alistair believes there is a sliver of hope that we can be what we once were, it is not because I entertained the thought. That I can assure you.”

“‘You have but to ask of Amaranthine and she is yours’? Had you made any other word choice, I would have assumed otherwise after yesterday’s debacle.”

Eamon paused as a few nobles passed by them, smiling and nodding just as Lyse did to hide their  _ discussion. _ Could she be blamed for showing her undying support for her king? Apparently Eamon thought so and wasn’t afraid to tell her face to face. When the onlookers had passed, his smile faded as he turned to her again. “There was one day, Lyse, that I believed I would call you my queen and would have been eager to do so.”

“Until I broke Alistair’s heart. You do love to remind me.”

“You give him hope at reconciliation,” he went on, ignoring her sass. “The boy needs to-”

Lyse had to stop him there before he could go any further along that line of thought. “That  _ boy _ is your  _ king, _ ” she snapped, narrowing her eyes and scowling at him. “He is fully capable of making his own decisions. If he wishes to hold out hope for a future that involves us, that is  _ his _ choice.”

She was at her wits end. It wasn’t as though she were asking their king to hope for her to run back into his arms, and even if she were asking for it, he hadn’t spoken a word of it in her presence. Of course she could always  _ assume _ that was why he returned the rose to her, and she  _ had _ kept it rather than toss it into the fire like all of the other letters she received of a romantic nature. Lyse loved him, she would never deny that to anyone, especially Eamon, but Alistair was a shining light in her world of darkness and the last thing she wanted was to taint him more than she had. 

“He has great faith in you,” Eamon said as she reached for the door to leave. “I only hope he has not misplaced it again.”

“You know what? I have decided I don’t much care for words of wisdom from old men. Take care, Eamon.” She pushed her way through the door, anger coursing through her veins.

He was right, and that was exactly why it made her angry. The thing was, Lyse  _ wasn’t _ ready to let Alistair go, not completely. She fully acknowledged that there was a piece of her that loved him and she hoped beyond reason that it would one day go back to the way it used to be between them. It was foolish and ultimately selfish, especially because as much as she may want a chance to start over with the first man she loved, Lyse wanted to avoid what separated them in the first place more.

If Alistair truly was waiting for her to be the woman that he married, and if she wanted a chance to marry him, she was going to have to face her sin. She just wasn’t sure if she could do that without losing herself to the Void.


	5. Chapter 5

“My Lady, a word?” Seneschal Varel asked the day after Lyse and Anders had arrived back at Vigil’s Keep. She had been lucky that Irving and Greagoir had agreed to allow the runaway mage to return to Amaranthine with her; promising that she would take responsibility to any damages that occurred from his magic and to dispose of him if he were to turn into an abomination. Anders had been ecstatic the moment she had relayed the information, dancing a most unusual dance that she had ever seen all while sticking his tongue out at the Templars that were watching him. They had been dumbfounded that their leaders had agreed to such an arrangement. It paid to have people that owed you their life.

“Of course, Varel. What is it?” she asked, putting her quill in the inkwell and looking up at him.

“It’s about the prisoner. Howe. I believe it would be to your benefit to pass your judgement upon him before you depart on your mission.”

Lyse drummed her fingers on her desk in consideration. She had been home now for just a couple of days, but busy with preparations for King Alistair’s arrival. With gathering men and resources to supply them on their journey south, it had left little time for Lyse to deal with her other duties. Namely dealing with Nathaniel. “What do we know about him?” she asked, resting her chin on her fist.

“You know more of him than I. Your families were close, were you not?” the seneschal asked.

“Nathaniel is eight years older than I. Also, I am a girl last I checked. We didn’t exactly mingle,” she pointed out. Not that it had been _her_ choice. Her mother had hoped to have a proper lady for a daughter, but instead she had a little warrior on her hands that longed to fight by her father’s and brother’s side in the army. She came by it honestly as both her mother and father had served King Maric during the Orlesian Occupation several years before Lyse was born.

“‘Tis true, my Lady,” Varel nodded in agreement. “Well, we do have several archives of the Howe family going back several generations, and we still have many of their artifacts below in the store rooms you are welcome to look through, though I doubt any of it will be of use in learning about our prisoner.”

She looked down at her fingers, picking at the nail beds and sighing. “I could send a letter to a friend of mine that may have contacts in the Free Marches-”

“Unfortunately by the time your friend receives your letter, you will already be deep within the Korcari Wilds. I would like to see him gone before then,” he interrupted. He had a point.

“I suppose I should start reading then.” Lyse rubbed her eyes and stood from her seat to make her way to the archives.

“My Lady, if I may be so bold,” Varel trailed along behind her as he followed. “Is there a reason for this research? He _did_ make an attempt on your life and execution is a suitable punishment for such an act.”

“Since when do I ever take the simple approach to things, Varel?” she asked, smirking to herself as she turned into the library. An irritated huff behind her let her know he had no argument against that.

“I’ll leave you to it then, my Lady. If you have need of me, you have but to call,” he bowed to her and continued on down the hall, leaving her alone to seek the answers she hoped to find.

Which was a lot harder than it ever should have had to be.

It seemed that when Vigil’s Keep had exchanged hands, the library had somehow become a disorganized disaster with no rhyme or reason to it. For a place that had been in the hands of Howes for generations, there was a surprising lack of information on the family, especially the current generation. It was as if someone had wanted to erase the misdeeds of the former arl; a misguided notion if there ever was one. History was history, no matter how good or bad.

She stayed in the library for several hours scouring over different texts that held some promise to helping her learn about the man currently staying in the dungeons below the keep. Varel was kind enough to have food and water brought to her and keep disturbances to a minimum while she worked through the day. It was unlikely that she would find anything of worth at this rate, not that Lyse even knew what exactly she was looking for. A reason to allow him to keep his head besides her having a soft spot for broken things? A hint that Nate had somehow not inherited the crazy that seemed to run in Rendon’s and Thomas’ blood? Would family records even prove that?

“This is hopeless,” she complained, snapping another book shut and running her hands through her hair. She supposed she could just talk to him, but the likelihood of him trusting her to speak of the man he had become was slim. With an exasperated sigh, she leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes.

She didn’t have any other options.

Lyse stood and walked from the room to the kitchens, ordering for food and wine to be delivered to her room as soon as possible. She then sought Varel, who was consulting with some freeholder from the country in the throne room.

“Did you find what you were looking for, my Lady?” he asked, bidding farewell to the man once his conversation was over.

“Not at all,” she shook her head. “Would you make sure that Howe is brought to my room in a half hour? Dinner should be finished by then and I am sure he could use a decent meal.”

“My Lady, I-”

But she was already walking towards her chambers. “A half hour, Varel.”

Lyse gathered a quill and parchment before setting herself up next to her open window. Carefully, she dipped the quill in the inkwell and began writing a letter to Leliana, asking if it were possible to gather more information on what Nathaniel Howe had been up to for the past eight years. She was going to offer him a choice, one she didn’t think he would wish to refuse, and if so, she wanted to know everything about him she could. If anyone were capable of finding things out about a person, the Orlesian bard was.

She pressed her sigil into the wax, sealing the letter and tucking it into her dress and then waited for the prisoner to be brought to her.

 

***

 

Nathaniel Howe had been sitting in the dark, dank air of the dungeons for over a week now, staring at the slimy, wet walls that surrounded him. This cell wasn’t as cold or dark or damp as the one he had been in before, a minor improvement thanks to the murderer. He also had a cot in the corner which was _much_ better than the stack of moldy straw that he had slept in prior to his talk with the woman.

Lyse Cousland. How frequently he had heard that name once he had arrived back in Ferelden from his time abroad. It tasted like poison on his tongue when he had asked where he could find her and the joy that her very name seemed to invoke in the common man made him sick to his stomach. They treated her as if she were somehow a reincarnated version of blessed Andraste herself, erecting monuments and statues in her honor like she were some virtuous figure that deserved their worship. Nathaniel knew the truth, however. Oh, he would give her credit where it was due. Not many people could create an entire army from all the different races of Ferelden, and fewer could single handedly ruin a city from within the course of a week, but none of that could hide the fact that she was a murderer.

He had read the reports. The _wonderful_ seneschal had deemed it necessary to bring in as many scripts that told of his father’s treachery as if Nate hadn’t known. Just because he heard and read these allegations did not make them true. War often exaggerated the deeds of those that were both heroes and villains, and he was sure that his father wasn’t an exception. The people needed a hero. _Cousland_ gave them that. The people also needed a villain, and though they had Loghain, somehow it was Rendon Howe that had been the ultimate evil in their eyes for what he _supposedly_ did to the Couslands.

And now, Nathaniel had returned to his homeland without a coin to his name or an ally in which he could call upon. His brother was dead, his sister too as far as he knew. Any other Howes left alive after the war had scattered to the wind for their own safety while he had come to face the cause of their demise.

He leaned back in his cot, head resting on the thin, damp pillow as he gingerly rested his injured arm on his stomach. When had she gotten herself a mabari? He wondered to himself, wincing at the pull of the tender skin of his mending flesh. He was lucky the beast hadn’t killed him, and luckier still that they had finally allowed him small healing potions. Another thanks to the Cousland in _his_ castle. They weren’t enough to heal him quickly, just enough to keep infection at bay and perhaps keep him from scarring too badly both where the dog had ravaged him and where she had struck him in the shoulder with her blade.

Attempting to kill her in her sleep had been an ill-conceived plan, he knew that now. Had he not been solely focused on the anger he had for her, he probably would have been content with just stealing some of his family’s things back. Nate surely would have been executed had he been successful in killing her, he was still facing that possibility even now, and his death wouldn’t have brought his family any closer to regaining their honor, but thieves weren’t murderers. And he could pick a lock faster than anyone he knew.

Iron keys clanging against iron bars alerted him that someone was approaching. He had already been given his final meal for the day, and the guards had just rotated out only a half hour before if he had to guess. His face set into a frown as he stood from his bed and walked over to the bars, watching as the lights of torches grew brighter. The sight of the seneschal meant one of two things.

One, he was bringing more _proof_ of his father’s evil deeds.

Two, judgement day was upon him.

Nathaniel hoped for the latter.

“Back away from the door,” one of the guards ordered, his sword pointed directly at the him as though he were a threat. To be fair, even after a week with shit food and an injury to his arm, Nathaniel was sure that he could fight the man one on one and win, but there were four of them as well as their captain and the seneschal. A fight certainly not in his favor.

Nate did as he was instructed, putting his hands up as well before one of the other guards grabbed them and put them in manacles that were too tight. He did his best not to complain as his skin chafed against the rusting iron, allowing them to lead him out of the cell and up the stairs.

The moment the door opened, Nate had to lift his arms to shield his eyes from the brightness of the world around him, even with a setting sun. He paused as fresh air poured over him, closing his eyes and _tasting_ it, if it were possible to taste air. It reminded him that there truly was nothing sweeter than fresh air blown in straight from the sea. Lost in this magical moment, Nathaniel was easily able to forget the manacles around his wrists or the hunger pangs in his gut until a shove from behind nearly sent him to the ground.

“Move.”

He had little choice but to obey the command, following the seneschal and captain of the guard into the castle and up the stairs. His suspicions grew as they made their way to the private chambers that had once belonged to his father; the ones that now belonged to _her._ Why would they bring him here rather than the throne room for his judgement? She had been well enough to travel to Denerim and back, from what he had overheard during the guard rotations anyway, so he doubted she was still stricken with poison.

They entered the room, nearly filling it with all the guards that they felt necessary to provide safety for their arlessa. Even she seemed surprised at all the bodies in her room as she rose from her seat. He might have found the situation funny had the delicious, savory smell of roasted chicken not immediately made his mouth water.

“Quite the procession for a single prisoner, don’t you think?” she asked, her eyes looking over him.

“We were only considering your safety, my Lady,” the seneschal bowed low and dismissed two of the four guards. The arlessa raised a brow, her hazel eyes looking at the other two with intent before he gave in and sent them on their way.

“You may leave as well, Garavel. And send Anders to me, will you?” she asked, turning to her captain.

Seneschal Varel did not seem to approve. “My Lady, this prisoner-”

“I know what he _almost_ did, Varel. You make me well aware of it everytime we speak of him,” she interrupted rudely with a wave of her hand. “Ranger.”

As if the word were a command, a large, fawn colored mabari rose from a plush pillow at the side of the bed that Nathaniel could not see from where he was standing. He swallowed hard, eyeing the long canines that had become far too familiar with his arm as the beast walked to his mistress’ side and sat. Never once did his eyes leave Nate, and just the memory of what he was capable of was enough to make the man’s palms sweat.

He had to hand it to the woman. She knew how to maintain a presence.

Garavel returned what seemed like a moment later, a man in mage’s robes following behind him. Nate recognized him as the same mage that had been imprisoned the night they had dragged him below ground; the very same one that never seemed to shut up. What in Andraste’s name had _he_ done to gain favor from this lady?

“My Lady, you wished to see me?” he asked in the same lighthearted voice that had annoyed Nathaniel while he was writhing in pain from his wounds.

Lady Cousland pointed towards Nate. “I hate to disturb you from your duties, but would you mind healing my guest?” she asked sweetly with a smile. So she was soft for the mage then, was it? He wasn’t sure what would possess a decent person to afford such affection for someone that could turn into an abomination at any moment, but then again, this was a murderess.

The mage turned to face him, his fingers reaching out to grab the bandages that were now at least a day overdue for changing. Nate jerked away, eyeing the man suspiciously as though he were about to curse him where he stood.

“Easy now, this might sting just a little bit,” Anders said, but he wasn’t having it. He jerked away again and again until he found he was suddenly unable to move. Bloody mages and their magic. Immobilized, Nathaniel could do nothing as the mage poked at the bandages, pulling at the edges which sent sparks of pain through his arm. “Okay, perhaps this is going to hurt. A lot.”

With a quick movement, Anders ripped off the bandage and it was all Nate could do not to cry out in agony. His healing flesh had adhered to the bandages from lack of proper changing, opening his wounds again in the worst way he could have imagined. Had it not been for the magic that held him in place, Nathaniel was sure he would have fallen to his knees, a sight he was sure that Lady Cousland would have enjoyed very much if he had to guess. He clenched his jaw, fighting the sparks of pain on his arm as he looked over at her, surprised to see her looking down at her hands instead. Odd behavior for a woman who had taken to the battlefield.

Soon the pain ebbed away, replaced by a cool, numbing sensation like water pouring over his burning flesh. His gaze shifted down to his arm where the mage’s hands held him, watching as his skin began knitting together. By the time he was done, there were only a few scars that remained, and even they were faint silvery circles where the mabari’s canines had grasped him.

The bandage on his shoulder was much easier to remove as it had healed the cleanest. Her blade may have gone deep, but it wasn’t messy. All that was left was a silver line to remind him of what he had almost accomplished.

“Thank you, Anders. You may go,” she smiled at the mage who grinned widely back at her. They were far too familiar for such a short time, Nate thought to himself. Varel seemed to agree as his eyes watched the man leave, leaving the three of them in the room.

“Those don’t look too comfortable,” she noted, looking down at his hands. It was true, they were far too tight, making the tips of his fingers feel numb, but he would endure them. He wasn’t a weak man. “Varel? Remove them.”

Both men looked at her in disbelief. Was she insane? Yes, she had her mabari and he had no wish to fight that beast again, but what person allowed their prisoner freedom in the confined space of their personal quarters with nothing more than an old man and a dog as their protection? As confident in his abilities as he was, Nathaniel was certain even he would not be so forgiving.

“ _Lyse,_ ” Varel warned under his breath, breaking the formality between them. “This man is a prisoner and should be treated with due caution. I cannot allow this.”

Nate stood silently between them, wondering which one would win out. He was surprised that Varel would break the formality with his arlessa, a dishonor his father never would have allowed, but she seemed to hardly care as she turned to face him with confidence that he envied.

“Tonight, he is my _guest_ and I will not have a guest be chained at dinner.” She then cast those fierce eyes in his direction. “Do you still intend on killing me?” she asked.

“Not tonight, no,” was his reply. She was healed. She was awake. She had her dog. He didn’t stand a chance and he knew it.

“Then release him. If he proves that he is a liar, then you can chain him up again and throw away the key.” Lady Cousland turned and took a seat at the table with the two plates filled with the roasted chicken and potatoes and carrots and everything he had missed about being a free man.

Varel’s face reddened as he struggled with duty and his obvious care for the woman. As exasperated as he was, he finally relented to her commanding gaze. Nate had no doubt the man was cursing her within his mind for being so foolish and reckless and, quite frankly, stupid. He felt quite the same way, except he was benefitting from this deal.

Once the blasted iron was off his wrists, he rubbed them to bring the blood back to his fingers that were now pulsing. She motioned for him to sit across from her and he did, cautiously eyeing the mabari as if he were supposed to attack him at any moment. Varel took to standing behind Nathaniel, a first line of defense should he choose to attack.

As he made himself comfortable, Lady Cousland bowed her head, offering up a prayer to Andraste before spreading a cloth over her lap and reaching for the utensils. She looked like a proper lady should; soft, full cheeks, high cheekbones, a small button nose and bow-shaped lips. If he didn’t know exactly who she was, he never would have believed her a war hero, or even capable of killing. She looked far too innocent.

Until he reached her eyes.

They were the most fierce thing about her. Guarded from letting slip any emotion; he had a hard time reading her unlike the night she visited him in the dungeon. Now, she was cold, calculating as she watched him while eating her food.

“Eat.” It was an order. One he was going to refuse. She was far too callous for him to believe that she hadn’t poisoned his portion, and he would be damned if he spent his last hours eating dinner with _her._

She chewed her food thoughtfully, those intense eyes observing him as she did so. She swallowed and then reached across the table, cutting into the juicy chicken and then collecting a potato and carrot to go with it. For a moment, he believed she was about to force him to eat the meal that seemed to make his stomach gnaw at his spine. Instead, she unceremoniously brought the fork to her lips, taking a very unladylike bite while keeping eye contact with him. He watched her chew the food from his plate, swallow, and then reach across the table for his goblet of wine, washing it down.

“Eat.”

Where in Andraste’s name had this woman come from?

Nate heard the sigh of a man that knew he might as well give up on this arlessa of his, and the thought almost made him smile as he lifted his fork and gathered a bite. Almost. The food had chilled in the time it had taken for him to be brought from the dungeons to her room and to be unshackled, but it was heavenly on his tongue. He no longer cared why he was in her room eating a dinner certainly not suited for a prisoner, so long as he could eat his fill. Which turned out not to be much. Meager rations tended to shrink the stomach after all.

They both remained silent as they ate their dinner. The only sounds being the clink of metal on the plates, the crackling of the fire that warmed them, and the panting of the mabari that lay between their feet. Lady Cousland seemed to quit watching him so intently, instead picking up a parchment from a side table and reading over it while she ate. Nathaniel wasn’t quite ready to drop his guard around her, looking up at the woman every now and then as if she would strike at any moment. There was nothing about this situation that was normal, and as his stomach filled, he was finally able to clearly wonder what it was that she wanted.

“Tell me about yourself, Nathaniel,” she asked. She put the scroll down and pushed her plate to the side, folding her hands on the table and devoting her undivided attention to him.

“Why?”

She smiled at him. A lady’s smile. One that reached her eyes in a way that may have once distracted him had she not been the person to kill his father and brother in their own home. “It’s been, what? Nine years since last I saw you?” she replied. “I think we had come here so that Father could hunt bears with your father. You and Fergus went with them, if I recall. The next year when we came, Rendon had told us you had gone to be a squire in the Free Marches.”

“It seems you know enough,” he said as he leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his thighs.

“That doesn’t tell me who you are, only that I know you went to the Free Marches.”

“And why do you care?” He scowled at her from across the table. He didn’t like when people asked questions about him personally.

Hazel eyes regarded him silently, studying him as if he were some unusual creature that she wasn’t sure was dangerous. “Fine, you don’t wish to talk,” she said, breaking that silence with a small nod. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you for attempting to take my life.”

Nathaniel had to hand it to her, she had no fear of getting to the point when small talk wasn’t an option. As much as he hated himself for it, he couldn’t help but to respect that.

“I don’t have a good reason,” he replied, holding her gaze.

“Then give me a bad one.”

Was she toying with him? Attempting to give him false hope before sending him to the gallows regardless? Varel cleared his throat behind him, but her eyes never once left his, and now she was smiling. An odd woman indeed.

“I have no illusion of what punishment my crime would bring me,” he began, fingering the fork on his plate. “Perhaps I had acted irrationally, driven by my emotions, but that is hardly an excuse for my actions.”

“I disagree.” She leaned forward, still studying him. “We all are driven by emotions at some time or another in our lives. Mistakes happen, and sometimes those mistakes can be forgiven for the right reasons.”

What was she playing at? She wanted something from him, but he hadn’t the faintest clue as to what. “Are you saying that killing my father and brother was a mistake, my Lady?”

“Oh no. Killing them wasn’t a mistake at all,” she leaned back, her eyes finally casting to the table as she reached for her goblet and took a deep drink. He had bothered her, or at least the mention of his family had brought out a very clear reaction. Noted.

“Then perhaps I hadn’t made a mistake, other than missing my mark, of course.”

Lady Cousland laughed. A clear, bubbly laugh that tinged her cheeks pink and wrinkled her nose. “A mistake indeed. One I am rather glad you made, Nathaniel.”

“What do you want from me?” he asked, clenching his fist around the utensil and glaring at her. He wasn’t fond of being the butt of some joke, not after everything he had lost because of _her._

“Relax. I have no intention of executing you.” She licked her lips and smiled at him. “I only need a reason that will satisfy the people that are asking for your head. Namely my brother.”

Ah yes, Fergus. No doubt he would wish to kill Nate himself if given the chance. In fact, he was surprised the older brother _hadn’t_ yet shown up to punish him for the crimes of his father and against his sister. “Something tells me that there isn’t a reason out there your brother would believe suitable enough to clear my name.”

“You’re right there,” she raised her glass before bringing it to her lips for a more ladylike sip. “Unless there is something you are willing to trade for your freedom?”

Nathaniel couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at the bargain, even leaning forward a little as he wondered what he might trade. Varel cleared his throat, noticeably deliberate this time, and again she ignored him in favor of staring down her prisoner across from her.

“Of course, it would have to have a really good trade off. You _did_ try to kill me and I did just have you healed completely,” she reminded him, tilting her head to the side allowing a few dark strands of hair fall from her updo.

“I am suspecting you have suggestions?”

She shook her head, inhaling sharply. “I wish to know what it is _you_ believe is worthy of your freedom.”

“I couldn’t say, my Lady. If I were you, I would have shown my attempted murderer no mercy,” he replied.

Lady Cousland smirked, “Then I suppose you are very lucky that I am not you.”

Nate took a deep breath, thrumming his fingers on the wooden table and turning his face to the flickering flames in the hearth as if they held the answer to her lingering question. “Lady Cousland-”

“Lyse. My name is Lyse,” she corrected him as if she were trying to befriend him. He wouldn’t allow that.

“My _Lady,_ ” he stressed the word, keeping to his appropriate role. “If my father truly did all the things you claim he did, he was but one man from my family. Those of us that haven’t been slaughtered for sharing blood with him are pariahs in the eyes of the very people that once thought him a noble man,” he said, keeping his eyes on the flames.

“Your father betrayed his king in favor of another. Regardless of my personal feelings towards the man for what he did to my family, he reaped what he sowed.”

“So all of my family should be punished for one man’s mistake?” He banged his fist on the table, turning his heated gaze at her as he clenched his jaw. He was keenly aware of the dog growling at his feet and the sound of a sword sliding through its sheath behind him, but he had made no move against her. She hadn’t even flinched at his reaction, most likely expecting it. “My family held a long line of heroes, people who had served Ferelden faithfully. Should all of that be tossed aside because my father was on the wrong side of the war?” He relaxed, as did the man behind him and the dog before him.

Lady Cousland watched him carefully, her eyes softening after a few moments. “I have not forgotten that there were honorable Howes,” she said. “But I alone cannot change the minds of everyone in Ferelden.”

She was a funny one considering she had gone from traitorous rebel to a hero almost overnight in their eyes, but he understood her point.

“I wanted to kill you for what you did to my family. My father was a good man that made bad choices. All I want is to reclaim what little my family has left,” he admitted sourly. “The Howes are no one now, we have nothing to our name other than scorn for what my father did.”

When he met her eyes this time, there was a sorrow there that hadn’t been before. She licked her lips and then avoided his gaze, pitying him for his current plight. The very one she had unintentionally forced upon him. “I know what it is like to lose everything, Nathaniel.” Her voice drifted softly, weighed heavily with a sadness that echoed his own. While he truly didn’t know what happened to her family, he _did_ know that they had been slaughtered within their own home while their army was marching to Ostagar. He still wouldn’t allow himself to believe that his father was capable of killing his closest friends, but he was willing to admit that maybe they were more alike than he originally thought.

“Yet you are a hero and I shall end up a vagabond,” he sneered, turning back to the fireplace.

They sat there in silence, each looking away from the other. Nathaniel found himself wondering if this conversation was going to go anywhere, or if they would continue this dance of figuring each other out.

“King Alistair will be here the day after tomorrow so long as the weather remains fair,” she mumbled to herself. “I may have a solution to our dilemma.”

“You mean _your_ dilemma. I am prepared to accept my fate,” he growled. Perhaps she would rather the king execute him as it seemed she wasn’t eager to kill him herself.

“Killing me won’t earn your family the honor you wish restored. If anything, it will only affirm everyone’s belief that the Howes are bad blood,” Lady Cousland told him, leaning forward in her chair. “And I am tired of washing blood off my hands.”

Nathaniel glared at her from the corners of his eyes. He knew that already, hence the reason he hadn’t found a way to stab her with the fork still sitting within his reach. “Your point?”

“Earn your honor.”

“Pardon?”

Lady Cousland leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes and rubbing her temple. “Earn. Your. Honor.” She accented each word with a gently tap of her fingers against her temple. “Your father threw away years of honorable Howes. Thomas was quick to follow in his footsteps. Prove to the people that you are an honorable man.”

“And just how to you suppose I do that as a traitor’s son?” he shot back.

“I didn’t say it would be easy, did I?”

She had a point. Nathaniel considered her words carefully, mind sifting through any and all possibilities. “Perhaps I could join the army under King Alistair. He is sure to give a Howe another chance,” he thought aloud, nodding to himself. He had no quarrel with the man and it would prove to his new king that he had his loyalty. And she had mentioned that he would be at Vigil’s Keep in a few days.

But for some Makerforsaken reason, the lady before him shook her head with a rather nervous look upon her face. “I wouldn’t suggest that. In fact, I would say that is equally as stupid as trying to kill me in my own bed.”

Nate stared at her in disbelief before scratching his own head and letting out a sigh. “I have nothing then, as I am sure that your brother wouldn’t be thrilled if I asked to join his ranks.” And he wasn’t about to offer himself into _her_ services.

“Tell me, what did you do while you were in Starkhaven?” she asked, clearly with a purpose in mind as she continued tapping her cheek with her fingers.

“It wasn’t chasing skirts and drinking my weight in wine,” he replied. “Why?”

“What are your skills?”

She was going somewhere with this, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to follow her line of thought. Still, there was no point in evading her inquiry. “Hunting, tracking, poisons as you well know,” he allowed himself a smirk at that, one she even raised her glass to. “I am skilled with daggers and swords, though I excel with a bow.”

Lady Cousland raised her brow and smiled. Another toast, though he didn’t know why they were drinking to that. She squinted at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes that made him wonder if the wine was getting to her or if he should be worried what inner workings her mind were developing. “Varel? I do believe I know what I wish to do with our prisoner.”

“My Lady?” the seneschal asked warily. If he had reason to worry, then Nathaniel knew he was doomed.

“I won’t be needing Alistair's scout after all,” she said, casting those hazel eyes back at him. “You will be travelling with me to the Korcari Wilds.”

“What?”

“My Lady!”

Both he and the seneschal protested at once while she sat back in her chair, pretty as a painting and wearing a shit eating grin if he had ever seen one.

“Honestly, I would rather die than serve under you,” Nathaniel said, though he lacked the conviction.

“I agree with the prisoner,” Varel added. That definitely made Nate lack in conviction.

Lady Cousland laughed, a pleasant sound if Nathaniel hadn’t thought her to be completely insane. “You want honor. You and I both know that no one outside of this room would be willing to give you the time of day to even start, given the enemies your father made during the war,” she explained.

“And you would allow someone that wants you dead to travel with you to the Korcari Wilds?” he asked, and then immediately wondered why she was going there and why Alistair was coming here. He was missing something, and suddenly not liking the position he was in.

“You have a choice. Roam the world as a vagabond fallen from the glory your forefathers created, or assist me on this rather important mission to restore some faith for your family’s name.” She counted them out. One. Two. That was it. She was really going to let him walk away and be free, or give him what could be an easy stepping stone to honor.

Varel spoke up before Nate could give her a reply, stepping between them and putting his hand on the table. “My Lady, you would trust a man that just tried to kill you to follow you into the wilds, completely armed?”

The lady flashed a truly radiant smile up at him, her eyes lighting up in such a way that Nathaniel found it hard to not consider her beautiful. “Oh Varel, he isn’t the first man who tried to kill me that I recruited.”

She was mad. Absolutely and completely insane. Or drunk. Nathaniel couldn’t imagine wine inhibiting her judgement this much. Rather than it scaring him, as it very well should have, he found himself intrigued. “Truly?” he asked, leaning forward with anticipation.

“Perhaps one day I will introduce you to Zevran. An ironic meeting that would be,” she grinned. “So, what say you Nathaniel Howe? Vagabond, or honorable Howe?”

He still hated her. He still wanted her dead, even if not by his own hands. He still had every intention of leaving Amaranthine as soon as possible.

But he could wait until this mission was over.

“Consider me at your service, my Lady.”


	6. Chapter 6

“This is an outrage!” Bann Esmerelle shouted as she stormed through the doors into the throne room of Vigil’s Keep. Lyse lifted her gaze from the farmer before her that had just informed her of a group of bandits hiding out on his land to glare at the woman that was the bane of her existence.

“Lady Esmerelle-” Varel began, stepping in to interfere before the angry woman could reach her arlessa. “If you have a complaint, you must wait your turn.”

Her pinched face squinted at him and then at the farmer who seemed entirely unsure of what to do. As much as Lyse hated to give in to Esmerelle’s intrusion, the woman was far too powerful for her to directly ignore. She turned her attention to the man and smiled, “Thank you for the information. Varel will see to it you are paid and I shall send some of my best knights at once to rid your land of your problem.”

The farmer bowed in thanks before turning and hurrying out of the room, careful to avoid the hateful gaze of the Bann of Amaranthine as he passed. Lyse motioned to the guards to close the doors, and Varel took his place at her side to begin the proceedings.

“I trust you have sufficient reason to interrupt my business with the freeholders near Amaranthine, Esmerelle. It would be most displeasing if you did not,” she said, leaning back in her chair and putting her fingers to her lips.

The woman’s race grew red in anger as her hands clenched into fists at her side. “You cannot just withdraw your knights that you have sworn to protect the city,” she spat.

“I have not withdrawn any knights from Amaranthine, my Lady. I asked only for volunteers to march for their king.  _ Your _ king,” the arlessa reminded her. “Those that did not volunteer their service to King Alistair were drafted from right here in Vigil’s Keep.”

It was true. The day she had arrived back from Denerim, Lyse had sent word out to the knights of the arling, asking for only a thousand volunteers. A few hundred had stepped up immediately, a couple hundred more took another couple of days to decide. Lyse had only drafted a couple hundred herself to meet her goal, and she had tried to avoid taking any of the knights from the city to avoid this very situation. It wasn’t her fault that many of the volunteers had come from there.

“And just what do you need a thousand men for?” Lady Esmerelle asked. “It was to my understanding that the Landsmeet concluded we would not be sending armed forces south, or did my contacts tell me falsely?”

Lyse sighed, “We are not sending forces to fight, my Lady. This is merely a demonstration to show that Ali-King Alistair does not forget those in need of his help. The sight of a few thousand men will be more than enough to frighten them back into the wilds and give the farmers peace once again.”

“Then allow the southerners to rally their own knights! Why should we have to help them? If Arl Howe-”

Lyse rose from her seat, holding out a hand to keep Varel from holding her back as she slowly descended the few steps that separated her from this woman. “Do I look like Rendon Howe to you?” she asked, stopping just a few feet away. Lady Esmerelle stood her ground, head held high and dark eyes full of fury as her arlessa looked upon her.

“No, my  _ Lady, _ ” she replied through clenched teeth.

“Then stop expecting me to do as he would have done,” Lyse spoke calmly. “I am aware of the bandits on Pilgrim’s Road that threaten your merchants, hence why I did not draft any of the few knights that wished to stay near the city. If anyone in Amaranthine were to be angry with my decision, it should be the farmers in the country that are now left unprotected.”

With the tension somewhat relieved between the two, Lyse turned to return to her seat, mind working a way to appease the bann without sacrificing her men. 

“I know there is a Howe here.”

The words stopped Lyse in her tracks. She looked quickly to Varel, who returned her questioning gaze with one of his own. How in Andraste’s name had she learned of this? Someone within Vigil’s Keep was loyal to Esmerelle, the question was, who?

She turned back around, smiling upon the woman as she took her seat on the small throne and crossed one of her legs over the other. “Of course. Nathaniel returned just over a week ago from his time abroad,” she said, carefully watching for the older woman’s reaction. “I recruited him to join me on this mission.”

If this news surprised her or not, Lyse could not tell from her reaction. “Rumor has it that he is your prisoner, not your companion,” she replied, radiating confidence in her assumption. So the bann didn’t believe her. 

“Varel, would you please fetch my guest for me? Last I saw, he was in the training yard,” she asked the seneschal, her eyes never leaving the other woman’s. “What else have these  _ rumors _ told you?”

Bann Esmerelle smiled, a cruel hateful smile that showed every drop of contempt she had for the arlessa that had killed her arl. It was amazing to think that Rendon had generated so much loyalty from these people, considering the man he had become during the war, yet there were several nobles that would have rather anyone else take over the arling than Lyse Cousland. Out of all the Howe loyalists, Esmerelle was the loudest to complain. “That you were nearly killed by your prisoner and that you are keeping a mage to warm your sheets,” the bann said confidently.

Oh Anders would just love that. Even Lyse couldn’t help but smile at the misinformation. Whoever it was that was leaking this information had to be someone of lower status, but above the rank of a servant, she assumed. Most of her closest advisors knew she had freed Nathaniel, so it couldn’t have been them. While Varel had questioned her closeness to the mage, her quick refusal of anything sparking between them was accepted without further inquiry. Anders was widely popular among the servants, those that would allow him to entertain them, that is, and there wasn’t a time when he wasn’t followed by Templars. 

“It seems you are quite misinformed, my Lady. Whoever you have in your pockets, you may wish to fire,” she said in amusement. 

“So you were not attacked in the night?” Esmerelle shot back at her, clearly angry. “You ignored my summons for what then? Personal time?”

Ah yes, her  _ summons. _ She had spent three days fighting the effects of the poison Nathaniel had used on her, and she did remember very angry letters from several of the nobles she was supposed to meet with during that time. “I did not say I wasn’t attacked, my Lady. I only say that you have been given misinformation considering Nathaniel’s presence here and my relationship with Anders.”

“We shall see,” the woman replied. As if on cue, Varel returned to the throne room with Nathaniel behind him.

Just a day of better food and proper care had done wonders for the man. His color had returned to his skin and he had shaved the stubble from his face, leaving nothing more than a small patch of hair under his lip. His shoulder-length hair had become shiny and soft looking. Lyse nodded her head in his direction, and though he still looked upon her with disdain, he bowed in return. “My Lady?”

“Nathaniel,” she smiled. “Bann Esmerelle did not seem to believe my claim that I hired you to come with me on this mission for our king.”

Esmerelle’s face was a mix of surprise and confirmation. She knew he had been here, but it seemed that she now realized she had been fed false information by whoever she had been paying within the castle. Lyse made a mental note to have Varel watch out for any of their people suddenly go missing or have unusual injuries as she watched the exchange.

“So it’s true. You have returned to Amaranthine to serve her?” she asked him, a look of disappointment on her face. “What would your father say?”

“My Lady, do not misunderstand,” Nathaniel began, quickening Lyse’s heart. The last thing she needed right now was for him to confirm any more suspicions from this woman. “I am here only to help restore honor to the Howe name. I hold no love for this woman. I only trust that she will uphold her end of the bargain to grant me the chance to make up for my father’s mistakes.”

Well, that could have been worse, she assumed. He didn’t admit to his attempted murder, nor did he allude to being a prisoner. In fact, he had made it seem as though he was here by his own choice and had even admitted to Rendon making mistakes. She would thank him later, somehow.

“I see,” Esmerelle said with a curt nod. “Perhaps I was wrong, my Lady. My apologies.”

Lyse smiled, knowing full well that the bann did not mean it, nor would she ever accept her apology anyway. Esmerelle wanted her out of Vigil’s Keep, the question that remained to be answered was how far she would go to ensure it happened. 

“Lady Emerelle, if you have any need of Vigil’s Keep while I am away, I trust that you will come to Seneschal Varel with any concerns.”

Her face pinched together in scorn, but she nodded and bowed all the same. “Safe travels, Lady Cousland.” And with that, she was escorted from the throne room, leaving Lyse with her guards, Varel, and Nathaniel.

“Thank you,” she offered, turning her eyes to him. “I appreciate what you did.”

“I don’t need your thanks, Lady Cousland. May I take my leave?” he growled. Such a grumpy, angry man he was. She honestly began to fear the scowl on his face would one day become permanent.

“You may go,” she waved him on. She then turned her attention to Seneschal Varel. “Keep an eye on her. Watch the servants and even some of the guards for suspicious activity. I don’t like that she knew as much as she did.”

“Agreed, my Lady. I have already informed Garavel to keep an eye out as well.”

Lyse stood from her throne and stretched, nodding to him as she made her way to the doors to leave. She knew there were other duties she needed to attend to, but dealing with Esmerelle seemed to take every ounce of energy that she had. A walk around the gardens or battlements might help clear her mind to meet with more of the freeholders. She needed a break.

“Before you go, there is one other matter that needs your immediate attention,” Varel said as he fell in stride beside her. 

“Whatever it is, it can wait until I have stretched my legs and centered my mind. Just let the people know I will return as quickly as possible,” Lyse replied. 

Rather than leave her side, Varel continued walking next to her. “This doesn’t concern the freeholders, but something you and I must discuss before you leave.”

She paused, glancing at the seneschal from the corner of her eyes and gave a sigh. “I’m listening. But let us walk and talk, if you don’t mind.”

“It concerns the hierarchy here in Amaranthine,” Varel began after clearing his throat. “You are unwed and have no children to which your title and fortune would go to.”

“Your point?”

“My Lady, you are about to travel into the Korcari Wilds where Chasind are slaughtering Fereldens that stray too far into the swamps. You have recruited an apostate mage whose only concern is staying out of the Circle and the very man who attempted to kill you as your companions,” he explained. She couldn’t help but smile at the worry hanging on his words. It seemed the seneschal might actually miss her should she not return to Vigil’s Keep once this was all over.

“You might find me surprisingly indestructible,” she laughed, continuing on their path to the training yard. Below, men and women dressed in leathers were hard at work honing their skills with swords, daggers, or bows against striking dummies or each other. Lyse longed to be down there with them, but she still had several hours of  _ noble _ work to do before she would be allowed. 

“I do not doubt your skills, my Lady, I only wish for Amaranthine to fall into the right hands should the impossible become possible,” he replied. “I would rather not serve Esmerelle if I can help it.”

“So she would be the next in line to become arlessa should I die with no named heir?” Lyse asked, leaning against the stony side of the battlements as she watched the people below training.

“I’m afraid so.”

She pressed her lips together and thought. Fergus wasn’t a possibility, being the Teyrn of Highever and her former companions wouldn’t wish to be some noble listening to the complaints of the common people. If anyone were the best choice, it would have been Leliana, but Lyse couldn’t imagine tying that woman down as she was, especially because she seemed to enjoy working for the Chantry and travelling all over Thedas. 

As she thought and considered the people that were already working within Vigil’s Keep, her eyes found the broad shoulders of Nathaniel Howe squaring up to take a shot at one of the targets in the yard below. Lyse watched him, how his arms stretched apart as he pulled back the string of his bow, the way his eyes focused on the target ahead of him, and how he kept his back perfectly straight. One shot, two shots, three, all of them close together in the center of the target and in quick succession. She smiled to herself, mostly because she felt terrible for the trouble she was about to put her dear seneschal through, but she couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t as though she was presented with many other options at this moment.

Lyse turned to Varel. “I shall name Nathaniel Howe as my heir.”

As expected, the older man balked at the thought. He opened his mouth several times, most likely ready to reprimand her for her unusual and most likely unwise choices, but he gave up with a definitive sigh. “If that is your wish, my Lady,” he shook his head. “But he  _ is _ travelling with you to the wilds. He could die as well.”

“Something tells me that he is nearly as indestructible as I am,” she said as she turned back to the brooding archer below. 

 

***

 

Nathaniel stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at the throne that had once been his father’s. How many times had he imagined that one day he would be sitting upon it only for his father to send him away to Starkhaven in favor of his younger brother? He couldn’t remember. At one time it had been all he ever wanted; to live up to the Howe legacy, to be another hero that would sit upon that throne and be loved by the people of Amaranthine as all the Howes before him. Now? He wasn’t so sure. 

The reports he had read while imprisoned below the keep had made him question just how honorable his father was. He didn’t believe all the tales, it would be impossible for Rendon Howe to be capable of doing everything they had claimed him to do, but with so many reports...so many victims, it was difficult to say. And even so, in war there were the leaders that made the decisions and took the prisoners. Behind every leader was a man that was willing to do what it took to get the information needed from their enemies. Rendon Howe was that man and as messy as torture was, even kings like Maric or Cailen, even Alistair would have one employed under their services. 

Torture didn’t make a man dishonorable if done for their king.

“Wondering what it would be like to sit on it, eh? I tried once, the Templars stopped me before my bottom could hit the cushion,” Anders said from behind him. 

Nate scowled, keeping his eyes forward and arms over his chest. “It isn’t very comfortable and it comes with a lot of responsibility. Far too much for a mage,” he replied. 

“Hey, I am content with my imagination,” the mage held up his hands as he took a place beside him. “Wonder what they called us here for. I expected Lyse to be here already, not you.”

He humphed without saying a word. He wasn’t entirely sure why they were being called here when King Alistair’s army hadn’t yet reached Amaranthine either, but until this mission was over he had little choice but to obey the commands given.

He felt the eyes of the mage beside him studying him closely. Nate glared at him with a frown, hoping that would be enough to make him mind his own business, but Anders was relentless. “Is there something I can help you with,  _ mage? _ ” he growled.

“I was just wondering,” Anders began, turning to face him fully. “You knew Lyse from before all of this, when you were younger, yes?”

“Where are you going with this?” he asked.

Anders looked around, casting his glance at the Templars before leaning in closer. “I can’t help but notice the tension between the two of you. And yes, I am aware you tried to kill her because she killed your family because your father killed hers-”

“Do you have a point?”

“Well, I was wondering if  _ maybe _ there wasn’t something else there, you know? Maybe you  _ knew _ her more than either of you let on? She was the younger sister to your childhood friend. The sparks of infatuation flew between you, making you seek out dark corners and praying to Andraste you wouldn’t be caught by her brother…” Anders whispered to him, giving him a meaningful wink. If there was ever a man in need of an arrow through their eye, it was this bloody mage.

“You do realize that I was nineteen and she was eleven when last we saw each other, or do you like to sneak off with young girls in that tower of yours to dark corners before the Templars catch  _ you _ in the act?” Nate snarled, clenching his hands into fists. Anders paled as he considered the rebuttal, his charismatic face soon twisting into one of disgust.

“Point taken. Forget I said anything,” he said as he backed away. 

Nathaniel was just about to leave, giving up on Lady Cousland arriving, when the doors to the throne room opened. She walked in, dressed in fine, blue silks and long brown hair pulled back away from her face, looking more like royalty than nobility. Guards flanked her at either side and Ranger, her mabari, trotted in behind them. 

“Ah, I take it you two have gotten to know each other a bit?” Lady Cousland asked as her gaze darted between them. 

“Too well,” Nate grumbled as Anders walked up to her to place a kiss upon her hand. 

“I have someone else for you to meet. Rode ahead of King Alistair and just arrived,” she smiled and turned to look behind her. 

Dressed in full heavy armor, a dwarf stumbled in behind her with a flask in hand. Anders took a couple of steps back in surprise as the dwarf walked right up to him. “If I squint really hard and turn my head this way, you could almost pass for Alistair,” he chuckled to himself. 

“Er, thank you?” Anders said. “Lyse? Who is this dwarf?”

“Anders, Nathaniel, I would both like for you to meet Oghren,” she beamed, for some reason pleasantly proud to know this creature that smelled more of a brewery than a brewery did. “We travelled together during the war, and I have asked that he accompany us to the Korcari Wilds.”

She had to be kidding. Nathaniel couldn’t think of any viable reason to bring in a dwarf that was obviously already drunk off his ass to come with them when stealth would be their greatest asset. Nate knew the woman was odd, but this was pure madness. 

By now, Oghren had turned his attention to Nathaniel and was walking up to him making the same squinty face that he had been making at the mage just a moment ago. “You. You look like Loghain.”

Nathaniel was about to retaliate against him when the doors to the throne room opened again. Lady Cousland’s face flashed with surprise and then annoyance as she turned around to face whoever was interrupting them. “Whatever is the matter can wait for ten minutes-” she began, then her mouth dropped open and she quickly bowed. “Your Majesty! I was not expecting you for another day.”

He turned to the doors, surprised himself to see a man dressed in golden armor etched with griffons on the plates. King Alistair strolled in with a half smile and approached the bowing lady, taking her hand and lifting her back to her feet. “I decided to ride in with Oghren’s group to surprise you. Surprise!”

“I fear you may have come at a bad time. I was just introducing Oghren to the others that we will be travelling with on this expedition,” she replied. 

“Bad time? It seems like a perfect time as I would fancy meeting them myself,” the king said, turning his attention from the arlessa to the three men behind her. 

As it seemed that King Alistair knew Oghren from their travels together, he skipped the drunken dwarf completely and approached Anders. “I take it you are the mage that saved Lyse’s life?” he asked, giving the man a once over.

“That would be me, yes,” Anders replied, either forgetting his manners or lacking them completely. 

“Consider me in your debt. Ferelden would be at a loss if anything happened to her, so I trust that you will keep her safe on your journey,” the king smiled upon him before turning to look at Nate. 

Nathaniel knelt on the ground, bowing to the king and looking at his feet until Alistair told him to rise. “And who is this? I thought you had only chosen Oghren and Anders?”

“An old family friend.”

“The person who tried to kill her.”

Both he and Lady Cousland had spoken at once, and their answers had left the room as quiet as a tomb. Nate glared at her, wondering why she would bother to mask his identity in front of their king, and found her glaring back. 

“Wait a minute, can you run that by me again.  _ Who _ are you?” King Alistair asked, rubbing his temples and turning his back completely to the arlessa in favor of listening to Nathaniel. He could see her closing her eyes and looking absolutely stricken at the idea of the two of them talking, but as far as he was concerned, honesty was far more honorable than lying. If he hoped to work for the king one day in his army, he would need to trust him. 

“Your Majesty, I am Nathaniel Howe, eldest son of Rendon Howe. I returned to Ferelden to avenge the murder of my father and my brother by taking the life of Lady Cousland, an act in which I have failed,” he explained, standing tall and straight, ready to face whatever came his way.

Silence followed. Not even Oghren moved a muscle as the two of them looked into each other’s eyes, waiting for one of them to make a move. Alistair’s face soon cracked and the man’s laughter echoed through the chamber. His eyes watered as he pointed at Nate and turned to Lady Cousland, whose face was still worried. 

“This-This is a joke, right? You hired this man to trick me! You did, didn’t you?” the king laughed. Arlessa Cousland shook her head, casting her wide-eyed gaze to the floor. Alistair’s laughter soon began to fade as he looked between them in disbelief. “Please tell me you jest.”

“He is who he says he is, Alistair,” she replied, lifting her head to face him. 

In an instant, the amusement that had been all over his face vanished and anger quickly took its place. Nathaniel was fully prepared to take whatever the king would have thrown at him, but was surprised to see him turn to Lady Cousland instead. “Are you mad, woman? He tried to kill you!”

“So did Zevran, and that worked out in our favor if I remember correctly,” she clenched her jaw, holding her head high like the regal woman she was. He had to hand it to her, she had no fear. 

“Oh, yes, Zevran. The worst Antivan Crow in the history of the Crows! The very one that man’s father hired to kill you!” Alistair yelled. 

Nathaniel arched a brow at that. So that was what she meant by an ironic meeting. Interesting that his father would have spent the coin to hire an Antivan Crow to eliminate a single woman, especially as one as young as she was. Just how skilled a fighter  _ was _ she that he would do such a thing? And why would he have done it anyhow? 

“I have made my decision, Alistair,” she spoke calmly and with finality. There was no changing her mind on the matter, even if he was the king. “We can discuss this later once you are settled in your bedchamber, if you wish.”

“Oh I wish. This discussion is not over,” the king grumbled, reluctantly following a servant that escorted him from the room. All the while, Lady Cousland stood tall and firm, her eyes following him as he left until the doors closed behind him. Even then, her shoulders never fell and if she had been holding in a breath, Nate didn’t see her releasing it as she turned to the three of them.

“The rest of his men will be here sometime through the night, I’d wager. You will have all day to prepare for the journey south. I suggest tonight and tomorrow night you get as much sleep as possible because there will be no feathered mattresses on the road,” she said. 

“We don’t have feathered mattresses in the Circle,” Anders said sadly, making Nathaniel roll his eyes. Bloody mage. 

“Take only what you will need. Most of the ingredients for poisons and potions we can find on the road, but we will need flasks and bottles to hold them. In the case of tents and cauldrons, I will be in charge of gathering those,” she went on. “Any questions?”

No one raised their voice, so she dismissed them all, waving her hands to let them go. Nathaniel was the first one to reach the door when she called out, “Just a moment.”

He paused, scowling as usual as he watched the other two leave him behind with the single person in this world he hated more than anything. “Yes, Lady Cousland?” he asked, keeping his back to her and hand on the door, hoping that she would just reprimand him right there. If she did, she likely wouldn’t stop him from just walking away, and the image her her face turning red in anger pleased him somehow.

He listened to the clanking of armor as one of the guards approached him from behind. He wondered if now she was going to start taking things seriously, keeping him chained up until they reached their destination, but the guard never made a move to touch him. Cautiously he turned to see that the knight was holding out a bow, one that looked very familiar to him. 

Nathaniel took it in his hands, running them over the smooth wood as he examined it. It was old, but in perfect condition, obviously well stored and kept. Along the back of the upper limb was the engraving of the Howe crest, just where he knew it would be. He lifted his eyes to Lady Cousland, who was watching him intently as he examined the bow thoroughly. 

“Where did you get this?” he asked, holding back the emotion that threatened to spill out in his words.

“The storerooms below the keep. There’s more where that came from, and it is all yours once we return from Ostagar,” she replied with a gentle smile that softened her entire face. 

He clenched his hands around the bow and bowed his head. “But why?”

“Consider it a token of good faith. Take care of me on this mission and I will take care of you once we return.”

Nate kept his face down as he closed his eyes, listening as she walked away. “Thank you,” he finally said when he heard the doors open. 

“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to survive this ordeal, and I am not entirely certain I will survive this confrontation with our king this evening,” she laughed, leaving him behind in the throne room, listening to it’s musical echo.


	7. Chapter 7

It took nearly two weeks to reach Redcliffe’s army from Amaranthine. Along the way, Lyse’s brother, Fergus, and his men joined up to march with their king, putting them just over 2,000 men strong. It had been a peaceful journey for the most part, as bandits and highwaymen were unlikely to stick around when an entire army came marching down the roads, and Lyse had spent the majority of it in the presence of Alistair. 

Meanwhile, Nathaniel had been smart enough to heed her warning and hang further back in the ranks away from Fergus Cousland. She honestly wasn’t sure how her brother might react upon seeing him and was thankful the rogue had taken her advice. If his reaction was anything like Alistair’s, then Lyse knew she would have a real problem on her hands. 

Alistair had been beside himself with disbelief when she had gone to talk to him the night he found out about Nate. He couldn’t think of a single good reason that she would take the Howe along, and she knew that any argument she made in his favor wouldn’t win the king over to her side. Once he had let off steam, he knew that there would be no changing her mind and that had been that, but she could feel his worry for her pouring off of him in waves once he had calmed down. As much as she would have liked to stay in his company, she couldn’t do it if he would turn the tables on her and bring up their troubled past again.

Thankfully he had promised he wouldn’t, and had stayed true to his word. Rather, he spoke to her of things happening within the capital and of his particularly strange situation with Empress Celene in Orlais, not that he was worried about it. She was far too preoccupied to press Alistair into a marriage he didn’t want as her cousin sought to take the throne from her. Since Ferelden had nothing to gain from their alliance, Celene had given up on corresponding with the new king in favor of focusing her attention on her own matters, a change that Alistair appeared to be grateful for.

Upon reaching the place where Lothering once stood, Lyse was finally able to see the destruction caused by the Chasind first hand. Lothering hadn’t been a big town to begin with, and it was rare to see Chasind this far north of the Korcari Wilds, but they had turned it to ash, ransacking it and leaving the dead to be feasted upon by carrion. She had helped to dig graves for those lost and offered up her prayers to the Maker and Andraste alongside the Chantry sisters. She had even watched Nathaniel do the same, his face set with the same grim expression he always wore as he both worked and prayed.

Another day and the forces split up. Teagan’s and Alistair’s men went towards the Hinterlands and south, making their distraction there. Fergus sent most of his men to the Southron Hills and south to keep watch for any Chasind there. Everyone else went down the Imperial Highway with the largest show of men to make their presence known to the wilders. 

Once they reached the destination Alistair had in mind, the knights began to set up camp. Teagan, Fergus, Lyse and her companions were called in just before the sun began to set in the horizon to meet and discuss their plan of action. She had honestly forgotten just how cold it was further south, even in late spring. The cool night air licked her skin, sending shivers down her spine as she made her way through the camp to the king’s tent. Fergus was waiting just outside, having just beaten her there and held open the flap for her to duck into.

Inside, there was a large war table sitting in the center. Candles and lanterns were positioned throughout the space, giving them a dim light to see by. Guards lined the entrance, standing tall and still as they watched her enter and take her place at Alistair’s side. Arl Teagan was already within, as she expected, speaking to him in hushed whispers. As their eyes met, he offered her a generous smile, one that made her always wonder just how he hadn’t found himself a bride. Alistair turned to her too, motioning for both her and Fergus to huddle in close as they examined the map. 

“Are your people on their way?” Teagan asked before they began.

“I sent word to have them brought here as quickly as possible. If Oghren doesn’t show, I wouldn’t worry about waiting for him,” she smirked. Most likely the dwarf was sitting by some campfire drinking ale and telling horrible jokes that he never gets to the end of.

As if on cue, two Templars entered the tent with Anders behind them. Lyse nodded towards him and looked back at the flap of the tent to see Nathaniel not far behind. The problem was, Fergus seemed to see him at the same time she did, and there was little anyone could do as he brother rushed forward and punched the man square in the nose.

“How  _ dare _ you show up here after trying to kill Lyse,” Fergus reached back, ready to strike again when she grabbed his arm and pulled him him away from the man.

“I brought him here, Brother. He is travelling with me,” she said, putting herself between the two of them. Nate was holding his nose, cursing as he glared up at both her and her brother.

Fergus looked back at Alistair in doubt. “You would allow her to do this?” he asked, his face twisting into complete disbelief as his king nodded.

“There is no arguing with her once she has made up her mind on something.”

With an angry grunt, Fergus turned away from Nathaniel and back to the table, unable to look at Lyse. “Then let’s get this over with. I’d rather not spend any more time in the presence of a Howe than I have to.”

Lyse shrugged and sighed as she looked at the other two men before turning her attention to Nate. She offered him her hand, but he refused, preferring to stand on his own while holding his busted nose.

“Anders?” she asked, hoping the mage would catch on to her wishes. He seemed to snap out of whatever daze he was in and looked at Nate in surprise before snapping his fingers. It was easy to see how that simple action of fixing his nose had angered the rogue; the way he glowered at the mage and then at Lyse before taking a spot in a dark corner of the tent to stay out of the way, but they didn’t have time to wait for the bleeding to stop before they proceeded.

“So, Ostagar is here. In the main tower, they will be able to get a clear view of us where we are,” Alistair began, pointing at the map and marking their locations. “We can see the top of the tower, but their numbers are hidden from us, which is why we need a basic count.”

“That’s where I come in,” Lyse said. “Right now, they have definitely taken notice of our presence here. Give them a day or two to find our other units, and things will probably get quiet for a time. My team and I will go in through this way,” she said, pointing to the marsh. 

“Swamp land. Won’t that hinder your movement?” Teagan asked.

Lyse nodded. “Yes, but if we are hindered, so are they. This area will be the least likely to hold scouts because no one would likely go through there. We have a mage, so travel can be made easier.”

“Meanwhile, the Chasind are very likely to challenge us. Your men will be at a disadvantage as far as the landscape goes, but you will have the numbers and the weapons on your side,” Alistair went on. “Do not attack them, but be prepared to have them try and sabotage your troops to gain the advantage.”

“If all goes well and we don’t see many Chasind on the way in, we should make it to Ostagar in two days. Give us another day to get a count, and maybe one more to scout the area and see if they have our men imprisoned there,” Lyse added. “If Nathaniel is as good as he claims to be, we might be able to get a count and find the scouts in one go.”

“And what if you are captured? Or betrayed?” Fergus asked, glaring at Nathaniel. 

“If Lyse and the others do not report back in a week’s time, we go in after them,” Alistair said with an affirmative nod.

Teagan glanced at him, his face as mask of concern and worry as he looked over the map. “But if there are too many, your Majesty. That could be a death sentence for our men and for you.”

“You won’t have to worry about that because we will come back successful,” she replied confidently. “Alistair and I spent over a week in these wilds, and had Morrigan show us a few tips and tricks to surviving within them. I haven’t forgotten her lessons.”

For several minutes, the four of them bickered back and forth about different scenarios that they would need to prepare for while Nate and Anders watched and listened in silence. Lyse had hoped either of them would contribute to the discussion at hand, but they both seemed content to work with whatever their leaders chose as the course of action. Of course, she knew things would change for them once they entered the Korcari Wilds and were left to their own devices, but she would have rather had some input on their behalf. And Oghren. Did he really have to be drunk in a time like this?

Teagan was the first to conclude the meeting, once he was satisfied with his role. He waved them goodbye and told them he needed his sleep if he was to be riding out to his men before dawn the next morning. Fergus was less satisfied, but that came more from the fact his sister was travelling with Nathaniel than anything else.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he had said to her as he left the tent, giving his former friend another intense glare that probably would have killed the man had her brother had any magical abilities. She soon dismissed the both of them, ordering them to stay close because they would be leaving just after sunrise. 

Which left her alone with Alistair. 

Lyse was just about to walk out the tent herself when he asked that she stay, pouring her a glass of wine as incentive to do so. She knew it would be rude to refuse, so she graciously took the cup from his hand and sat at the table across from him, wondering exactly what was on his mind. 

“Seems like it’s been forever since we have been here, doesn’t it?” he asked, staring off into the distance. “Has it really been a year?”

“Closer to two, at this time, your Majesty. At least since we met on the ashen field after the battle,” she corrected him. The war itself had been a year long, and there were several months of wandering around and avoiding being killed by Loghain’s men thanks to Lyse’s survival and Alistair’s unique lineage. 

“You seem pretty confident that you won’t run into trouble,” he said, turning his eyes to her. She could see the worry writ on his face and knew that he didn’t like the idea of sending her out there without him.

“I think the Chasind have more to fear from running into me.”

He laughed at that, nodding his head in agreement. “Always the confident one, you are. Confident enough to find the biggest bunch of misfits and trust them with your life.”

“It’s worked out for me so far,” she smiled for a moment before letting out a long sigh. She was just eager to be considered useful again, to be back out in her element. She had never longed for the life of a noble, not even when growing up with her parents. It seemed, however, that everyone that ever cared about her wanted to keep her locked away in a castle where she was safe. 

Well, relatively safe, as Nathaniel had proven. 

“Lyse,” Alistair began, leaning forward and taking her hand. She stiffened, sucking in a breath as her heart quickened within her chest. He had promised that he wouldn’t bring this up. He had sworn…

“So Eamon tells me you won’t take a wife,” she said, changing the subject from whatever he was about to bring up. His eyes widened and his cheeks blushed crimson as he looked down at his glass of wine, fingers tapping the edges as he looked away from her gaze. “Do you wish to tell me why not?”

“I wasn’t going to bring up our past, you know?” he mumbled, his eyes still avoiding hers. “And when did you talk to Eamon?”

Lyse almost felt guilty for putting him on the spot like this, but she couldn’t be too careful. Now she was reluctant to talk about her little confrontation with his mentor. “It was something he just mentioned at the Landsmeet. He seems concerned,” she replied. 

“Hmph, did he now?” Alistair crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “He’s rather adamant that I choose a bride soon.”

“So why don’t you?” Lyse asked. It wasn’t her place to ask him, but she needed to know that Eamon was wrong and that he wasn’t holding out any hope for her to return those feelings. 

“Why don’t we talk about why  _ you _ haven’t chosen a husband yet, while we’re at it,” he said, looking at her for the first time since she changed the subject. 

It was a fair statement, one she deserved at the moment, but it stung all the same. They both knew why she hadn’t taken a husband, there were few men she would ever truly allow herself to get close to after everything that had happened with the Howes. As much as she trusted some of her closest companions, there was a darkness within her that she just couldn’t allow them to see, especially Alistair. “I have my reasons,” she finally said, taking her eyes off him and staring into her own glass.

“Maker’s breath, Lyse, I didn’t mean-” he apologized, realizing what he had done. “You know what? Are you really sure you want to bring the Howe with you?” He pointed a finger at her the moment he had caught his mistake, doing his best to cover it up without doing too much damage.

“Don’t worry about it, Alistair. There are parts of my life I have come to accept, and that is one of them,” she assured him with a smile. “As for Nate, I thought we had already discussed him?”

The king crossed his arms over his chest and grumbled to himself, acting just like the inner child Lyse knew was within him. One of the many qualities of the man she was rather fond of. “I still don’t see how you can trust him after he tried to kill you.”

“I trust in his wish to restore honor to his family name,” she countered. “Just as I trusted Zevran to wish to stay alive.”

“The difference between those two is that it wasn’t personal with Zevran. He didn’t know you from anyone. You were a target to be eliminated, that was it. This Nathaniel knew you growing up. He was friends with your brother. It  _ was _ personal.”

He had a point, Lyse couldn’t deny that. “Be that as it may, Nathaniel wasn’t here when his father chose to kill my family. He doesn’t know everything Rendon did. It’s hardly his fault if all he knew was the girl he had grown up with turned on his family and slaughtered them in their own home.”

“It isn’t as if there aren’t detailed accounts of what Howe did, Lyse,” Alistair raised a sandy brow. “It’s his choice to not believe the information given to him.”

She wasn’t even sure why they were arguing about this again. Was it worth it to keep defending the man that she was willing to give a second chance to redeem himself all to avoid the talk of marriage and the past and everything she was uncomfortable with? Apparently her mind thought arguing pointlessly was a great coping mechanism. “As much as I hate the man, Rendon was his father. He had been good friends with my family for years before he turned on them. Imagine if I had told you Eamon was angry at me for some reason and had told me to leave you alone.”

Alistair looked at her suspiciously and she almost wondered if he questioned whether or not his mentor would do such a thing. “But why would he do that?”

“The why isn’t important, but your questioning it is. Nathaniel loved his father. He looked up to him and as far as he was concerned when he left for Starkhaven, he was an honorable man,” Lyse explained. “He came back to Ferelden after a war that his father and Loghain lost. It wouldn’t be too much a stretch of the imagination to believe that everything written about his father is exaggerated.”

“I still don’t understand,” he shook his head. “You have proof of his father’s cruelty scarred all over your body. Surely that is enough evidence against the man.”

Lyse raised an eyebrow. “So you suggest I just take off my clothes around him?”

Alistair blushed, his cheeks growing red. “I didn’t say that.”

“Besides, he and I are not so different. As far as he knows, his father was just on the wrong side of the war and aside from my testimony against Howe’s men, there is little evidence of his involvement in killing my family. To him, it looks like I came from nowhere, stealing into the night to destroy everyone he ever loved in an attempt to gain power,” she continued to explain, hoping that this would be enough to satisfy him. 

“But his father did kill your family.”

“That isn’t the point. At least not the one to justify his actions. One of these days, he will figure it out, whether it be that he finally believes me or someone he trusts tells him and he believes them. For now, all he wants is to restore the name that his father all but destroyed.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, Alistair processing the information she had given him and her waiting for him to try and argue further. She knew it wasn’t a perfect argument. The Couslands had done nothing wrong against the crown when they were slaughtered that night whereas Howe had murdered an innocent family and allied with the man that had killed King Cailen, but both she and Nate were too similar for that to go unnoticed in her friend. Thankfully, he seemed to come to that conclusion himself. 

“It’s not the same, but I see your point,” he finally said, giving in. Lyse beamed, happy to have won her argument before standing and stretching her limbs. The sun would be rising all too soon, bringing tomorrow with it, and she needed to try and find Oghren before she bedded down so he would be easier to rouse before they left. 

Alistair stood and followed her to the entrance of the tent, his hand reaching out to take hers. Lyse stiffened as he pulled her in for an embrace, though gradually she found herself melting against his armor and returning it. “Come back to me?” he whispered into her ear. 

“Ali-” she began, looking up at him with her large round eyes. 

“I know, I know. Be careful, Lyse. You’re more important than you know,” he said, cupping her cheek in his hand as he leaned down to kiss the top of her forehead. He pulled away, his sad eyes searching hers for any hint that she might cave, and then reluctantly let her go. She bid him goodnight and then disappeared into the cold night air. 

Her eyes stung with unshed tears as she searched through the camp, thankful that darkness hid her sorrow from onlookers. The man knew how to break her and make her long to go back into the past and fix things between them, but it there wasn’t a magical spell to do so. She wondered if he would ever move on, even if she swore that she would never be with him again or if he would promise to wait for eternity. She desperately hoped that wasn’t the case. 

Lyse found Oghren passed out in front of his tent, snoring away with Ranger laid out beside him. With a sniffle and a small smile, she went in to grab some furs and cover the dwarf before wrapping herself up and sitting beside the fire to keep warm. As she stared into the flames, mulling over her situation with Alistair, she decided that when all of this was over, she would talk to him whether it was to confess her love or tell him that he needed to move on.

She just wasn’t sure which.


	8. Chapter 8

Nathaniel swatted at the mosquito on his neck for what seemed like the millionth time since they entered the swamp. Already his skin was welting from the bite of the bloody insect, making him long to itch and scratch for some relief. Instead, he dipped his fingers in a healing poultice and smeared it over the bite, and the two new ones forming as he waded in the knee deep water. 

He had thought that traveling with the mage, things would have been easier. He wasn’t sure how exactly, just that Lyse had said it wouldn’t be this hard. As it was, Anders didn’t seem to know any spells to make wading through swamp water more like walking on land, and they had lost precious daylight and strength because of it. There was only one small comfort the mage provided when they reached the few dry spots to rest, he was able to dry their clothes.

The only issue was, he never shut up.

The entire trip, from the moment they had left the king’s camp, Anders had prattled away about this and that, mostly complaining about the Circle or something brushing against his legs in the water, or the smell that clung to their clothes. It was always something. If Nate wasn’t so set on proving his worth to King Alistair, he probably would have strangled the man long before now, but he also had to deal with Lyse. 

He found her to be an entirely different person once they were away from the main host. She lead them fearlessly through the swamp, pushing through branches, finding easier spots of land to traverse, checking the scenery for any signs of the Chasind. Her large, round eyes constantly scoured the landscape with a fierce determination that he could only hope to match. And she never complained. She was just as covered in mosquito bites as the rest of them and he was certain he had watched her pull a leech off her arm without a second thought earlier in the day. 

Nathaniel might even have said he admired the woman. 

“Do you know where we are going?” he asked around midday when they finally stopped for a break. She seemed to be searching for something specifically, but he couldn’t imagine what.

“We aren’t far now. I haven’t seen any signs of the Chasind in the past half hour,” Lyse replied, sitting on the ground and stretching her tired legs. 

All of them were exhausted from pulling themselves through water and mud that sucked them in. Oghren had even long since given up trying to drink and work his way through the muck at the same time, his shorter stature making his journey more difficult than the rest of them. 

“I hope we get there soon,” he grumbled with the thick, rough voice of his. “I’m too sober for this.”

“Flemeth’s hut should be just through those two hills there, if I remember correctly,” she assured them. Nate and Anders both whipped their heads around to face her at once.

“Flemeth? As in the Witch of the Wilds?” Nathaniel asked. 

“As in the one that has many witch daughters?’ Anders added with a grin. 

Lyse nodded, rubbing her calves and then taking a drink from the waterskin. “That’s the one.”

“Might I ask why we are going there?” Nate leaned against one of the trees, looking out through the thick of brush that surrounded them. “I thought she was only a legend?”

“Hmph, she ain’t no legend. Seen her with my own eyes,” Oghren said. 

“There’s nothing to worry about. If I remember correctly, she is long gone, but her hut will most likely have things we can use. And the Chasind will give this place a wide berth. A safe place to camp as any,” she told them all, standing to her feet and urging them to move on.

Just as she had said, it only took them another twenty minutes to see a small shack sitting in the center of several small hills with one path in and out. The building looked less than sturdy, somehow crafted to sit next to a small tower. It’s structure didn’t make any sense to Nate, as part of it sat firmly on the ground while another part of it seemed suspended and balanced on timber, supporting it up off the land. The windows were dark and there was no smoke coming from the chimney on the side, and judging from the growth around the hut, it was safe to say it had long been abandoned. 

Lyse wasted no time knocking on the door and peeking through the windows that she could see into. Eventually she tried to open the door and found it locked, but even that didn’t stop her as she reached into her pocket for her lockpicking set. A moment more, and the door was open, showing them an empty home. 

Though empty wasn’t quite the right word. There lacked any human interaction with the place. Dust had settled on the stacks of books and parchments that littered the interior, and if they wanted to use any of the furs that lined the beds, they would need to be beaten outside to rid them of the stale air smell and dirt that covered them. A fireplace sat on one side of the room, logs piled up close by and begging that they get used. 

Anders immediately began scouring the books with great interest; obviously they contained spells that the mage had never seen before while Lyse went to check out the rest of the house. Oghren appeared to be doing something outside, which left Nate with the task of wondering if it would be wise to start a fire. The last thing he wanted was to alert the Chasind to their presence here, but Lyse didn’t seem the least bit worried that they would be bothered. 

“I found some various potions. Anders, if you would take a look at them and tell me what they are or might be, that would be great.” Lady Cousland descended the stairs, giving the bottom floor another once over. “I didn’t find any rations, not that I would have trusted them anyway, so we may need to go hunting.”

“Can’t we rest first? My legs hurt and we haven’t stopped all day,” Anders complained with an exaggerated groan. 

“I could hunt for us,” Nathaniel offered, grabbing up his bow and preparing to head for the door. 

“I’d rather we at least go in pairs. So long as we are in this hut, we will be safe from the Chasind. There were fresh tracks on our way in,” Lyse said. “We can take a break, but it won’t be too long before they suspect we are in their territory.”

“I thought the point of this was to keep them from knowing we are here? Why bring an army?” 

She smiled, pink lips turning up at the edges, “You didn’t actually think that we were going to go by completely unnoticed, did you? The army is just to keep them occupied enough that they will be more focused on Alistair than on a small group of people like us creeping through their woods.”

“So what pairs are you suggesting then, Lady Cousland?” he frowned.

Lyse tilted her head to the side and tapped one long finger against her chin. “Since Anders is my responsibility, I suppose I should make sure I watch over him. So you and Oghren can go look for food and things we might need while Anders and I go another direction and do the same.”

He supposed that was a better option than anything else, he thought to himself as he agreed to the plan. Not that traveling with the dwarf that was currently pissing on the side of the hut was ideal by any stretch of the imagination. “You’re with me,” he told him as he passed, not waiting for the man to catch up.

Even for late afternoon, the marsh around them seemed unusually quiet. A few birds chirped here and there, fluttering their wings through the branches of the tall trees as Nathaniel stalked his way through the forest. Behind him, Oghren panted and puffed, out of breath from having to rush to keep up with the much taller human. If Nate were ever to find an animal to shoot with his arrows, the dwarf would likely scare it away with all the noise he was making.

They finally approached a particularly large stretch of water where several ducks were happily swimming, giving him the chance he needed to grab dinner for the evening. He sent the dwarf further down the bank to see if he could find some decent kindling while he nocked an arrow and took aim. Holding his breath, he counted to three and released, his arrow whistling through the air and landing true in his target. The other ducks honked their agitation, aggressively flapping their wings as they took to the sky, giving Nate a chance to retrieve his prize. 

He made his way back to the bank and down to where he had sent the dwarf, keeping his eyes peeled for more prey. So engrossed in the hunt, he nearly missed the way the forest suddenly stilled around him. No birds, no small critters running through the brush, and no sign of the dwarf. Worried that calling out for Oghren would alert any nearby Chasind to his location, Nathaniel tied the bird to his belt and nocked another arrow, ready to defend himself if need be. 

A mighty roar echoed from further up the marsh and a clang of metal on metal sent Nate sprinting in that direction. As he got closer, he could hear shouts and grunts of pain as the sounds of the fighting grew louder. He arrived just in time to shoot down one of the largest men he had ever seen whose arms had been raised to bring a great hammer down on the dwarf currently cursing one of the other Chasind.

“You pot-bellied son of a whore! I take shits bigger than you,” he roared, bringing his axe down on the man, it’s blade sinking into the flesh between his neck and shoulder. Nathaniel loosed two more arrows into archers that were further back in the treeline, taking them out before they even realized he was there.

“Are you alright?” he asked, rushing to the dwarf whose armor was already covered in blood. Several of the Chasind that had attacked him were already lying dead or dying at his feet, impressing the rogue with his skills.

Oghren spat on them, wiping his braided beard with the back of his hand. “Took me by surprise. Showed them why I’m called Oghren the Magnificent.”

Nathaniel didn’t have time to question whether or not the man was telling the truth, for when he looked back up, there were more of the blasted savages surrounding them. Oghren wasted no time, yelling some profanity as he charged forward with his axe swinging. It was an impressive sight, watching the dwarf fight with brute strength alone, not that he could watch for very long as he found himself coming face to face with a Chasind barbarian.

The savage was huge, easily a head or so taller than Nathaniel himself, and heavily muscled. Dark tattoos lined the exposed patches of skin that he could see, and his head was shaved completely bald. Dark eyes glared at him and a cruel smile twisted his face as he lifted his hammer. Nimbly, Nate dodged out of the initial attack, rolling on the ground until he came back to his knees. He let fly an arrow that pierced the calf of the barbarian, causing him to howl in pain as he swung his weapon around, nearly catching Nate by the cheek. 

Behind the Chasind, Nate could see Oghren holding his ground, still screaming absurdities at each attacker that dared to think they could take him on. It was easy to see now why Lyse had chosen to bring him along, the dwarf was a powerful force on the battlefield. 

Given that the bow wasn’t made for close combat, Nate had little choice but to drop it for now in favor of his blades. With no time to lace them with poison, he took to using his speed and skill to cut at the exposed flesh of the barbarian swinging his hammer around. Unfortunately, he misjudged his distance from the brute, and the hammer connected to his face, blinding him with pain as he was launched into a nearby tree. 

Lights danced behind his eyes as he struggled to his feet. The world around him shifted, threatening to put him back on the ground though he knew that would mean trouble for him. His vision blurred as he looked around for the daggers he had dropped, everything remaining out of focus. Oghren was still yelling and the barbarian was approaching while his fingers searched the ground for something he could use. 

Relief washed over him as his hands found the hit to one of his blades and with a quick flick of his wrist, he threw it into the man’s thick neck. It wasn’t enough to kill him outright, but it was enough to slow him down and allow the rogue to roll away to safety. As he stood up, an arrow flew past his face and landed in the barbarian’s head, bringing the brute to his knees as he fell over dead. Nate turned to look and found Lyse standing there with her elven bow in hand, Anders right behind her. 

Anger and disappointment rushed through him all at once. The last thing he had wanted was for her to come looking for them or her having to help them fight off their attackers as if they weren’t capable enough on their own. Granted, he had only given death to three Chasind, four if he counted the one with the hammer he had just been fighting, while Oghren had fought nearly all of them off on his own. Still, to feel as though he owed her a favor left a bad taste in his mouth. 

“We had it covered,” he grumbled, rubbing his hands against his face and wincing. His cheek was already swelling and he couldn’t see very well out of his left eye, making him wonder just how much damage was done to him by that single blow. 

“I can see that. Good work,” Lady Cousland said, kneeling down and looking at him with concern in her eyes. He pulled away from her hand, but she swatted his thigh in retaliation. “Here, a potion,” she said, reaching for a flask that hung at her side. 

Reluctantly he took it, glowering at her the entire time before tilting it to his lips and choking down the contents. He coughed, eyes watering as it burned its way down, making all of his injuries tingle as it took effect. Lyse watched him, examining his face as it healed before her very eyes, smiling when it seemed to do its job.

“Looks like it was a hunting party,” Oghren called out, holding up several rabbits and even pointing out a deer. “Shave my back and call me an elf! They brought mead!”

She laughed, shaking her head. “When we get back to the hut, have Anders look at your face again. Looks like you were hit pretty hard,” she said, turning her attention back to him. 

Oh yes, just what he needed, the mage to take care of him.

The party traveled back to the hut, Nate hanging further behind the lot of them with his wounded pride while Oghren pulled the cart the Chasind had been using to travel with their kills. It had been lucky that the hunting party had stumbled upon Oghren as Lyse and Anders had also had trouble finding any viable prey to hunt down. At least tonight they would not go hungry.

The afternoon passed without incident as the small group worked together on cleaning the carcasses and cooking the food. The shadows of the trees and hills soon lengthened and then shrouded the hut as billows of smoke rose from the chimney like a beacon. Nathaniel was wary, but Lyse seemed convinced that the Chasind wouldn’t dare come close to where they were. If anything, she seemed convinced that this would give them more room to work with. Apparently they feared the witch that once lived here.

“How is your head?” Lady Cousland asked, taking a seat next to him near the fire, picking her teeth with one of the duck bones. 

“Fine.”

He could feel her staring at him for a few moments before shrugging it off and letting silence fill the air between them while Anders continued reading into those bloody books. Every so often he would grow excited, his lips moving faster as his eyes flicked over the pages, but then he would frown, looking like a puppy that had been kicked. Nate had no interest in whatever magic the mage thought he was onto. In fact, the very idea he had his hands on a witch’s book made the rogue uncomfortable. He hoped that their fearless leader knew how to handle him should he summon a demon or become an abomination himself.

“Nate, you and Oghren have first watch,” Lyse said after releasing a yawn. “Shouldn’t have any trouble, but just in case.”

“You would trust the dwarf to keep watch? Look at him,” Nathaniel pointed over to where Oghren was leaned against the wall with a stupid grin on his face as he stared at absolutely nothing. 

Lyse arched an eyebrow as she looked back at Nathaniel, trying to hide a smile on her face. “You’ll have Ranger too.”

He glanced over at the mabari with doubt as the beast was currently possessively gnawing on a bone from the deer carcass they had cleaned earlier, but he wouldn’t complain. Perhaps the dog was likely able to listen and chew at the same time. Even if he wanted to protest, his options were limited. Keep watch all night with the drunken dwarf, or worry about a mage that could become an abomination? Listen to a mabari chew on a bone, or have no choice but to sit in tension with the woman that refused to tell him about how his father and brother died. 

He might even consider himself lucky. 

It took several minutes to convince Anders to put down the dusty tomes and head to bed upstairs. The mage reluctantly followed Lyse through the door, complaining about how he was getting to the core of learning how to shapeshift, closing it behind him. Nathaniel watched it for a few minutes before turning his attention back to the whetstone before him to start sharpening his daggers. 

Oghren seemed to wake up from his drunken stupor then, tiptoeing over to the door and pressing his ear to it. Even from the other side of the room, Nate could hear Lyse’s giggling, which seemed to stir some anger within him. They were on a mission given to them by the king, not on some honeymoon in which to fuck the night away while people stand guard outside the damn door. 

“It’s not polite to listen in on people,” Nathaniel growled, sharpening his blade. 

“Eh? I’m not listening in. Just being reminded of the good ole days,” Oghren grunted, removing himself from the door. “Everyone settling down for the night, some of us cleaning our blades, others of us shacking up. Good times.”

Nathaniel resisted the urge to groan at the mental images presented to him by the dwarf. The last thing he wanted to imagine, or even listen to Lyse and Anders giggling as they fumbled around in the sheets while Oghren listened in. It made him question whether his family’s honor was worth this specific sort of torture. “I’m not sure I wish to know what you are on about.”

“Oh come on. You’re not the least bit curious as to what those two are up to in there?” Oghren grinned wide, his beady eyes sparkling in the dim lighting of the fire. 

“Not in the slightest,” he replied, keeping his own eyes on the work at hand. 

“Hmph. Sodding humans, the lot of ya,” the dwarf grumbled as he pulled at the cork of the bottle and took a swig. 

The giggling and soft whispers from the next room soon subsided, leaving only the rhythmic scraping of steel on stone and the occasional belching from Oghren. Ranger, tired out from his chewing, curled up into a massive ball in front of the fireplace as the chill of the Ferelden night seeped in through the cracks of the door. Every once in a while, Nate would examine his blades, testing their sharpness before starting again or setting them to the side once they had met his satisfaction. 

When he had done all he could do to entertain himself, Nathaniel turned his attention to the rugged dwarf who was currently picking something out of the wild and untamed beard upon his face. “I must say, Oghren, you are an incredible fighter,” he said. 

“An admirer I see. I don’t get many of those,” he replied. “Don’t get too attached there, I am only interested in the ladies.”

Nathaniel smirked, giving a shake of his head. “You have no worries there, ser dwarf. I only admire your skills in battle,” he added after a moment. “I can see why she chose to bring you with us.”

“Who, Cousland? Aye, we go way back,” Oghren tilted the bottle of mead to his lips, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and offered it to Nate. “Here, you look like you could use a drink.”

Hesitantly, Nathaniel took the bottle, wiping the top and then poured the liquid into his mouth. It was strong, strong enough to make the man cough as it burned its way down his throat and warmed his belly. Blessed Andraste, how could he still be drinking this and standing? He wondered to himself as he passed the bottle back to the dwarf. He reached over and swatted Nathaniel on the back, making his eyes water as he finally regained control of himself. 

“That’ll put some hair on you,” he belched and then raised the bottle to his lips again. 

“You drink like my brother used to,” Nate noted, looking back at the fireplace as he remembered the few times he had spent drinking with Thomas. There were few people that could outdrink his brother, and fewer still that he wouldn’t have challenged if they thought they could.

“Sounds like my kind of brother,” Oghren stated with a grin. “A fun one.”

Nathaniel supposed so, if his idea of fun was getting into bar fights or touching women that had no interest in him. He couldn’t count the number of times he had to get Thomas out of trouble when he would visit his family, and it seemed that as he grew older, his aggression had only gotten worse the more he drank. “Yeah, fun.”

“Gotta say, you have some serious stones coming back here. And more for trying to kill Lyse,” Oghren said, taking another swig. “She’s not a woman I would want to mess with.”

“Ser dwarf,” Nathaniel began, ignoring what he said while giving Oghren his full attention. “You traveled with her during the war. So you were there when she killed my family?” he asked. 

“That’s right. You’re Howe’s little blighter,” he replied with a thoughtful expression. He took another draught of mead and sighed, “Some things are better left in the dust. Sooner you learn that, the better.”

“He was still my father. I should think I have a right to know if he suffered.” He twisted his hands together in anticipation, hoping the dwarf was drunk enough to provide him with the answers he sought. 

Ever since he had first spoken to Lyse, he had wondered countless times what she had meant by not being able to tell him his father died an honorable death. He had just tried to kill her and she was raw from their confrontation when she had defended her reasons for killing him in the first place; it was to be expected that she may want to keep that information to herself. On the other hand, it could also have meant a myriad of other things, things Nathaniel didn’t want to think about in regards to his father’s demise. If he could just learn the truth…

Oghren shook his head. “I’m not the one you should talk to. Not my story to tell,” he grunted.

“I’ve asked her and she has refused. Is a son not allowed to know the details of his father’s death?” Nate asked, growing angry. Why was it that no one would tell him? Was it truly so awful?

“She’s got her reasons. Sodding good ones too, I imagine,” he replied, defending the murderess. “I don’t think trying to kill her was the way of finding out.”

“She killed my family. I don’t expect you to understand that,” Nate hissed, glaring at the dwarf with a growing dislike. 

He didn’t seem to pay attention, or take a hint to back off, because the warrior turned to him with a wagging finger and hard gaze. “You’re not the only one to lose family to her, you know.”

“I don’t think a broken bottle of ale counts as family.”

“Shows what you know about dwarves,” Oghren grunted, his thick fingers picking at the bottle as he looked down into it with a somber expression on his face. “She killed my wife, back when she was working on trying to get dwarven support from Orzammar.”

Nathaniel raised his eyes, a look of shock over his face. “And yet you follow her. Why?” he asked. He was having a difficult time just keeping silence between him and her, but to imagine that she took away someone he  _ loved. _

“That dew-licker went mad. Her only love in life was the sodding Anvil of the Void. Bloody thing could turn dwarves into golems, and Lyse wouldn’t stand for such a thing to threaten the casteless of Orzammar. She isn’t even a dwarf and knew that thing was bad news,” Oghren explained. “Branka didn’t want it destroyed, so we had to destroy her.”

Nate quieted, casting his eyes down at the floor and tapping his fingers together, unsure of what to say. He knew nothing of the way things worked in Orzammar and knew even less about what golems were except they were tough to kill. “I’m sorry. I did not know.”

Oghren sighed, leaning back heavily in his chair. He gave his chin a good scratch and then leaned forward, looking at him with the most sober expression Nathaniel had ever seen him wear. “Look, I know you hate her and in your mind you think you have every reason to. But she isn’t the monster you make her out to be,” he said. “When she kills someone, she has a sodding good reason for it. I would tell you if I could, but those are her demons to deal with. If you want to know what happened, you might want to try being friendly to the girl. She’s not all that bad.”

That was easy for him to say. Nate wasn’t so entitled to cast off everything Oghren had just said to him as falsehood, but he couldn’t imagine his father doing anything quite as cruel as turning someone into a golem, or having that power to begin with. He was an honorable man, one that had picked up his sword and fought alongside the Hero of Riverdane. How could someone like that turn into this monster the people of Ferelden pictured him as in the short time that Nathaniel was away in Starkhaven? 

Though there was the matter of Loghain turning on his own son-in-law he had to consider as well. 

Nate lost himself to thought, imagining a world where he would be so intensely loyal to Lady Cousland, but eventually gave up. No matter what the dwarf said about her, his father was not the man that he made him out to be, and even if he was, who was to say it wasn’t Loghain’s influence that brought him to that point? And even then, Lyse was considered a great hero with her companions never questioning her judgements, or at least not standing up to them if they thought they were bad. She could just as easily lead them down a dark road that would turn them all into villains one day, if she had a mind.

He wondered if perhaps he would live to see it happen.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning was a haze of grey as clouds rolled overhead. Wind gusted through the trees and the brush, their leaves twisting and twirling and dancing in the air as it whipped about the two rogues standing just in the shadow of the treeline. 

So far, the weather seemed to favor the small party, masking the sounds of their footsteps as Lyse and Nathaniel parted ways to circle Ostagar and count the number of the Chasind currently residing there. Anders and Oghren waited further back, listening for the sounds of fighting in case either of the rogues found themselves in a spot of trouble. That is, if they could hear over the howling wind. 

It had taken them only a couple of hours, carefully avoiding the Chasind signs that let them know they travelled through the area, to reach the outskirts of the once abandoned fortress, but it would easily take her and Nate all day to circle around the encampment gathering all the information they possibly could without getting caught. 

Lyse took the southeast side of the camp, the more dangerous route because she was likely to know the lay of the land better from her days looking for her brother’s body on the battlefield. Bile rose in her throat as she remembered cresting over one of the hills to find the fields ablaze and the men of Ferelden fighting each other in a mass of confusion. She hadn’t known, at the time, what had happened. For most of the night that she had hidden in the shadows watching, she had thought it had all been just a bad dream brought on by the trauma of witnessing her family die before her eyes. 

She wished it had only been a dream.

Even now, the landscape still bore the scars from the battle nearly two years ago, before the war officially began. Some of the trees were still scarred with scorch marks, some of the structures were still in disrepair. The great, stony bridge was now merely a ruin, providing the basic structure the Chasind had used to fashion their own, rickety wooden bridges. 

And everywhere she looked, there were Chasind. 

This wasn’t a simple settlement that the wilders had come to create and start a life as she and Alistair had assumed. Each man and woman she saw and counted were suited for battle. Several training yards were scattered through the ruins with warriors and barbarians honing their skills against each other. A large forge seemed to be constructed in the middle of the ruin with several blacksmiths making weapons. She couldn’t get a very good look from where she was, but what she found sent chills to her spine.

Several hundred barbarians armed with iron and steel, and this was just  _ her _ side of the camp. 

The one thing Lyse couldn’t see from this side of the bridge was whether or not there were any prisoners being held here. What she did find was that the Chasind seemed to be keeping most of their supplies housed within the Tower of Ishal. As luck would have it, because the Chasind knew they couldn’t be touched by an army of Fereldens without seeing them coming from all sides, they were lax in their guarding duties around such sensitive materials. 

She couldn’t believe her fortune at being able to sneak straight towards the tower without being caught, not that she hadn’t come close a few times. If it weren’t for her suspicions on why the Chasind were here, she wouldn’t have risked such a reckless adventure, but they needed to know what they were going up against. Besides, she had the howling wind on her side to mask the subtle crunching of the grass beneath her boots. Several times she had to duck behind crates and barrels that contained foodstuffs. Important for them and their survival, not so important for her. The closer to the tower she got, the more weapons she found.

And more Chasind. 

While it seemed that the blacksmiths forged the weapons for them to use, the others who were on guard to watch their supplies were tasked with sharpening their tools. Lyse listened in carefully to their conversations, but most of them just talked about the incoming storm or how they would crush the Fereldens should they be stupid enough to launch an attack on them. Eventually she had no choice but to withdraw before she was spotted, taking care to keep her eyes peeled for a change in rotation or movement. Thank the Maker he seemed to be on her side.

It was late afternoon when Lyse returned to where Anders and Oghren were waiting. She was surprised to see several Chasind lying dead around them. Ranger was even kind enough to lick her cheek once he was reunited with her, smearing blood over her face like warpaint. 

“Has Nathaniel come back yet?” she asked, looking through the trees for any sign of their missing companion. 

“Not yet, no,” Anders replied. “Do you know how  _ useful _ it would have been for me to learn that shapeshifting magic I found in that book right now? I could have turned into a bird and counted every last one of them without them ever knowing I was there.”

“Eh? Then why didn’t you?” Oghren scowled. “Would have saved us all a trip.”

“Because magic doesn’t work like that? I can’t just think ‘oh! I want to be a bird’ and poof! It happen. It’s very intricate, even more when dealing with this particular kind of magic because you are changing your  _ physical _ form-”

“All I heard was blah blah, I’m a mage, blah,” the dwarf spat. 

Anders rubbed his temples and looked at Lyse with pleading eyes. “Please don’t leave me alone with the smelly dwarf again.”

She was nearly ready to scold the two of them when a snapping branch alerted her that they were not alone. With one swift movement, she was able to draw her bow and nock an arrow, pointing it in the direction the noise had come from. Her fingers twitched on the bowstring, ready to let loose when Nathaniel pushed his way through the brush. She lowered her bow, a sigh of relief escaping her until she noticed the cut upon his cheek. “What happened?” she asked, rushing over to him to get a better look. 

“Ran into a couple of the bloody Chasind on the way back. Don’t worry, they won’t be following me and I doubt they are going to be found by their friends. I also found wolves,” he answered her, smacking her hands from his face and looking down at the scouts that were dead at his feet. “I see you met trouble as well.”

“If you call that trouble,” Oghren grumbled, kicking one of them before pulling his axe out of its skull with a sickening sound. 

As one, they moved through the trees as quickly as possible, thanking the Maker for the wind that seemed to be growing stronger with each passing hour, making their way back to the hut where it was safe. The clouds above them grew darker and the scent of rain hung in the air by the time they finally made it. It was more than lucky that they hadn’t run into more of the Chasind along the way; the incoming storm seemed to have made them all stay close to their camp where they would have shelter. 

Once they were within Flemeth’s hut, Lyse began grabbing twigs and stones, mapping the layout of Ostagar for everyone to see. “Nathaniel, what did you see on your side?” she asked, carefully placing everything as close to correct as she could remember.

“Less than five hundred Chasind on the northside, mostly scouts by the looks of it,” he answered. He leaned over and pointed to an empty place, “There were permanent structures here, built much like this hut. Guards were posted outside, so I assume shamans?”

Lyse nodded, placing a few stones there as the map of the area formed within her mind. “They are using the Tower of Ishal to house their supplies. Everything from food to potions to weapons. A shit load of weapons,” she explained. “I don’t believe this is the main host we are dealing with. Everything points to an exploration group. The kind you send out to see what sort of opposition you meet before you bring out the main host.”

“Seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?” Anders asked. “Why so many of them? I didn’t think there were that many Chasind to begin with.”

“It’s not just the Chasind, my Lady. In a valley down here is a group of about a hundred Avvar,” Nathaniel said, pointing to a spot. “And I think they had already sent men to meet with your brother.”

She pursed her lips together, cursing inwardly as she looked over everything. Why, in Andraste’s name, would the Avvar join with the Chasind? And why were these peaceful people rising up against them in the first place. “Anything else? Any signs of cells or prisoners or buildings where they keep them?” 

“Aye, my Lady. Between the Avvar camp and the main camp, it looked like they had several cages lined up along the treeline,” he said, gravely adding, “They have the dead lined up just a few feet away. That’s where I found the wolves.”

Double shit. 

Lyse began mulling over their options. They had less than a thousand Chasind camping out in Ostagar, if their count was close anyway, and another hundred or so Avvar in the valley, possibly already fighting Fergus and his men. They did have prisoners that were alive, but some that were dead and possibly dying and Lyse needed to find a way to get them out of there. 

Just then, a bright flash illuminated the inside of the hut, followed by a resounding boom that shook the structure where it stood. It was as if it were the one thing she needed to piece together a plan that she was sure would work best in their favor. 

“Anders, can you make things explode?” she asked, looking up at him with a grin. 

The mage blinked at her in surprise, curiosity getting the best of him. “I can’t do  _ that, _ if that’s what you mean,” he replied, referring to the thunder. 

“No. Can you make a building explode? A tall one?” She pointed at the twigs she had tied together to represent the Tower of Ishal. He looked at where she pointed and then reached for one of the tomes he had taken a liking to, flipping through the pages with determination.

“Well, if you give me a day to gather some sela petrae from the marsh, I am sure it has plenty there I could maybe put something together? We would need drakestone too, though,” he said, his long fingers sliding down the page.

“You can’t just conjure up a fireball and blow the place to bits?” Oghren asked. “And you call yourself a mage. Can’t turn into a bird, can’t throw fireballs, hmph.”

“Oh look at me! I’m a dwarf that drinks and farts,” Anders mocked him, sticking his tongue out and rolling his eyes. “I don’t expect a dwarf to know how magic works.”

“Enough!” Lyse said, narrowing her eyes at the both of them. “Can you at  _ least _ start a fire that would get their attention? The area around here was incredibly dry, being higher up than the marsh around it.”

The mage looked at their makeshift map over again and flinched at the sound of the thunder cracking outside. “I can do you one better. They would suspect something if I just blew up the building. If it looks like lightning struck it, or a tree nearby, it could catch fire.”

“Excellent! Their burning supplies would be sure to bring the majority of them to try and save them. That could leave the prisoners open to be freed,” Lyse beamed at him, thankful for his input. “Nate, you and I will go with Ranger to where you saw the prisoners since we can pick locks.”

“What will two of us do against the Chasind if they find us?” he asked. “There are a lot more of them than there are of us.”

“They will be too busy trying to stop the fire from destroying their supplies. Once Anders has set up a flame big enough that it is out of their control, he will make his way back to the hut to wait for us to bring the prisoners. Some of them will most likely need his healing before they can journey to where Alistair is,” Lyse explained.

“What am I? Chopped nug liver?” Oghren asked. Anders muttered something about smelling like it, earning him a death glare from her. 

“You are going to head back to Alistair and tell him what we found and what we are doing. If this plan goes to shit, he needs to know what foe he is facing here. Something tells me that this is bigger than we thought possible,” she answered. 

Nathaniel held up a hand, face set in a firm scowl that actually  _ did _ make her think that he looked like Loghain. It was rather unsettling, enough so she had to ask him to repeat himself.

“Your idea of a plan B is making sure that, in case we die, the drunken dwarf relays the information?” he growled. “It’s a wonder you ever made it through the war alive.”

“People who make Plan B’s are the people whose Plan A’s always fail,” she said matter-of-factly, grinning like the little shit she was. “Unless you have a better plan?”

“We got what we came here for. We have the numbers counted, their location, everything that the mission included. We head back to the king, relay the information and let him tell the nobility of the threat we are facing,” he said. “We aren’t here to play hero.”

Lyse’s face twisted from amusement to stern in the blink of an eye. “Those prisoners are Fereldens, Nathaniel. I told Alistair that if we could save them, we would. They have been out in the elements for weeks now and there is no way of us knowing what the Chasind have done to them. They may not have time,” she said, lips pressed into a hard line.

Nathaniel sighed, his eyes darkening with his anger he so loved to hang onto as he conceded to her. “So you and I head to free the prisoners while Anders creates a distraction and Oghren heads for the king?”

Everyone nodded in affirmation as a streak of lightning lit up the sky. It was now or never to start putting their plan to action if they wanted the fire blazing before the skies opened up and unleashed the rain that was sure to come. 

 

***

 

Nathaniel did not know whether or not he should be inspired by Lyse’s confidence or worried for his own well being as he followed her through the forest. It seemed as though the Maker himself had blessed her on this evening as lightning continued to light up the sky, illuminating the path ahead and keeping the rain from falling. Ranger padded on ahead of the pair, tracking where Nate had travelled earlier as an extra guide, though he wasn’t very good about avoiding branches.

It was rough going for most of the journey without a torch to light their way, but he was thankful that the higher the ground seemed to get, the less brush and bog they had to push their way through. As much as the wind was on their side, and the thunder too, Nate kept his eyes peeled for any danger they couldn’t hear because of it. As Lyse had suspected, most of the Chasind activity in the forest had seemed to halt, but that also meant that if they were spotted while in Ostagar, they would be doomed. 

“I have missed this,” Lyse thought aloud as she paused by a tree, taking in what she could see of their surroundings. 

“You should miss it quieter,” Nathaniel hissed as he caught up. The last thing they needed was for this wistful woman to alert their enemies they were nearby.

“You worry too much, Nathaniel.”

“And you do not worry enough. Why are you so...different out here?” he asked, trying to understand the woman before him. Back in Amaranthine, she had always seemed so withdrawn and quiet. Reserved, even. Oh, she still had a mind of her own that caused enough trouble for the people around her, he had but to look at the current situation they were in to know that, but out here she seemed uninhibited and free. 

She turned her round face towards him, stray hairs streaking across her freckled cheeks as she turned her lips into a smile. “This is my element, Nathaniel. This is where I belong.”

“Ah, yes. Out in the wilds, hunting the bad guys and shacking up with your companions. I can see the appeal,” he grumbled, more to himself than to her. She stopped suddenly in front of him, nearly causing him to run her over and making him wonder if she had seen or heard something despite the bloody darkness and wind. “What is it?” he asked in a whisper, turning his head this way and that to get a better look at their surroundings.

“Andraste’s ass, you don’t think Anders and I were fooling around last night, do you?” she asked, though laughter clung to her words, teasing and taunting him as if he were wrong. 

Nate’s ears burned red and he found himself thanking the Maker for the darkness to conceal his embarrassment. “You seemed pretty close and Oghren mentioned that last night reminded him of the good old days.”

“Did he now?” she smirked. 

“I take it he exaggerated?” He wasn’t even sure what was prompting this bit of banter other than a mild form of curiosity that had taken hold of him. It seemed surprising that more wasn’t going on between the woman and that blasted mage, considering how thick the two of them were.

“Oh no, he told you true,” she shook her head. “That dirty dwarf listened in far too much for Alistair’s liking, but I found it to be quite titillating.”

Now it was Nathaniel’s turn to stop in his tracks. “Alistair? As in, King of Ferelden?” he asked in disbelief. He supposed it shouldn’t have been a complete surprise, the two of them had travelled together for so long, fighting their battles side by side, but he had assumed that nothing had ever transpired between them because she wasn’t a queen. Which begged the question-why not?

He didn’t get the chance to ask, however, because suddenly Lyse had him pinned up against a large tree, her free hand covering his mouth while the other gripped tightly to her bow. He tried to move to see what it was she was seeing, but her smaller frame was pressed tightly to his body. A moment later and he heard the tell-tale snapping of branches to let him know that they were not alone. Torches lit up the path they had been on before Lyse had moved them out of the way, and two Chasind walked along on patrol. Ranger, who had been travelling just ahead of them must have given her a heads up, for he wasn’t even sure where the dog was. 

For several minutes, Lyse kept her body pressed to his, faces just inches apart as she listened intently for any sign of them looping around or more on their way. He did the same, straining his ears for any sounds she may have missed. Ranger was the first to come out of hiding, trotting out of the brush and back onto the path as if he had simply stopped to mark a tree. Only then did she release him from her hold against the tree, pressing her finger to her lips in warning. 

They were too close now for idle chit chat.

Nathaniel took the lead this time, working his way down the trail towards where he had seen the prisoners kept. There was a thick outcropping of trees and brush atop a small hill that overlooked the cages; a good place to keep watch while they waited for Anders to start the fire. Lyse knelt down next to him, elbow resting on her knee as she counted out the prisoners that were living and then those that had died. Just as he had said, the dead lay just out of reach of the cages and on the far side of where they now sat in waiting. 

Minutes ticked by, the three guards standing outside of the prison cells still walking and talking with each other as though they hadn’t a care in the world. Occasionally they would reach in and jab some of the still forms of the prisoners and laugh as they groaned. Nate began to wonder if Anders had gotten lost along the way, a worried that seemed to be shared with his companion. 

Just when it seemed that their plan had failed, a bright flash of lightning seemed to strike the ground on the southside near the tower. He tilted his head as a horn sounded in the distance from the other side of the ruins. Both Nate and Lyse seemed to hold their breath until shouts could be heard over the wailing wind. His eyes searched for the outline of the tall tower, and another flash of lightning revealed to him billows of smoke rising towards the blackened sky. Soon after, a bright orange glow illuminated the tower, and he was finally able to release his breath. 

The mage had done it.

They waited a few moments more for two of the prison guards to take off to see what was going on, leaving a lone Chasind behind to watch their prisoners. Nathaniel stood to take aim at him, but Lyse was quicker. Her arrow flew through the air and nestled deep within the head of the wilder, dropping him where he stood. 

“Nice shot,” he said, giving her a rare compliment. 

“Thanks,” she replied, pushing her way through the branches and then sliding down the hill. 

The few prisoners still alive were huddled together for warmth in a corner, none of them bothered by the happenings around them. They had nearly jumped from their skin the moment Lyse approached the cage, pulling out her lockpicking kit and setting to work. 

She calmed them with her voice, smiling and assuring them they would be safe soon, that their king had not forgotten them. Nathaniel himself found it difficult not to believe her words, despite the clear danger they were in. He did, however, notice that her fingers were clumsy on the lock, as if she were severely out of practice. Looking down, he saw a key ring hanging from the belt of the dead Chasind. He smirked to himself as he grabbed it and brought it to her.

“Can I get you a ladder so you can get off my back?” she grumbled, dedicated to doing things her way. 

Nathaniel dangled the keys over her shoulder and grinned, “Sometimes, there  _ are _ easier ways to get things done.”

Lyse turned to him with a hateful glare, but her face soon broke out into a smile as she took the keys from his hand and unlocked the gate that kept the prisoners from their freedom.

Things did not look good for the most of them. There were only about six still living in total. Some of them were stiff, moving awkwardly as they exited the cells. Others could hardly move at all, their legs or arms bent in the wrong direction. Many of them had fevers, most likely from infection as the bottom of the cage was nearly nothing but mud and sewage. She had been right, as much as he hated to admit it. A few more days and these poor people would be nothing more than rotting corpses for wolves to feast upon.

Lyse removed her backpack, pulling out several injury kits and strong healing potions, passing them to everyone. He was amazed at how quickly she was able to set bones as right as they could be, given the time they had, and that she had even planned for this at all. It was no wonder she was considered a hero to many, if this was how she accomplished things during the war.

“Those of you that can go, just up there on the treeline is a mabari. He will wait until we all join up with him and take you to our mage,” Lyse explained as she worked on setting another broken leg, slathering a poultice upon it. “Don’t worry, he’s a good one and will take great care of you. Nathaniel and I will follow behind and make sure we aren’t followed.”

While she worked, he kept guard to make sure that no one stumbled upon them by accident. The trick with the fire seemed to work well in their favor, as there wasn’t a single soul around to catch them in the act, but as his eyes watched the flames in the distance, a great flash of blue seemed to erupt from the ground and the orange glow was no more. 

Shit.

“Lyse, we need to go. Now,” Nathaniel ordered, turning to her as she helped one of the scouts to their feet. 

She looked up, her face paling in the dim light of the torches that surrounded them. “Maker’s breath! How did they stop it?” she gasped. He shook his head; the only conclusion he could imagine was magic, but what mage was powerful enough to stop a raging inferno with one spell? He didn’t want to think about that, and it was clear she didn’t either as she hurried the people along into the paths of darkness. They had hoped for another hour at least, to get them closer to the hut before the Chasind even realized they were gone. It wouldn’t take long for them to realize they weren’t alone in these wilds, and soon the place would be swarming with barbarians looking for those that dared tread on their territory.

And there were only two of them. And a bloody dog.

Nathaniel supposed he should thank the Maker that Anders knew how to brew a strong potion because he couldn’t believe the improvement the scouts had made in a short time. Ranger lead them from the front, carefully choosing the easiest path for them to take while Lyse and Nate brought up the rear where those that were now walking on once broken legs were struggling to keep the pace. He wasn’t sure how far they had made it when another horn sounded. This one, he knew, was for them.

They sprinted for the trees as quickly as they could, helping those that stumbled up along the way. It was slow going, and with each fall they could hear the shouts behind them growing louder. If they could just make it to the hut, they would be safe, but that wasn’t likely to happen. 

An arrow whistled by Nate’s ear, landing with a thud into a tree. Several more followed, making him duck and dodge as best he could. One landed true in a scout’s back, dropping the poor man to the ground. There was nothing that could be done for him now, so Nate urged the others to keep running. Beside him, Lyse panted in exertion, her eyes round with fear and determination as she encouraged everyone they were fine. Two more arrows hit their targets, but nothing fatal, thank the Maker. 

They couldn’t keep on like this. The Chasind knew these wilds better than they did and they had speed on their side. It was unlikely they would all make it to the hut, but if they could just get the scouts there, this mission would be an overall success. Nate grabbed onto his bow and turned, using the torches as his guide to drop his foes one by one. 

“What are you doing?” Lyse called out, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. 

“Get the scouts to Anders. I’ll hold them off as long as I can,” he ordered her, letting loose another arrow. 

Rather than do as he said, the stubborn woman pulled the bow off her back and assisted him, dropping as many of the approaching Chasind as she could with what little light they had to work with. There was no time to argue with her, Ranger was already far enough away that their little distraction here could afford the mabari time to get the scouts to safety. 

Eventually, the shouts and the arrows quit flying, and both Nate and Lyse stilled with their bows nocked, waiting for any sign that there were more Chasind following. Thunder rolled overhead and lightning flashed above them, and still they did not drop their guard even as the first drops of rain fell from the sky. 

“Were you hit?” she asked, letting out heavy breaths as she finally released the tension in her body. 

Nathaniel did a quick assessment of his body, wincing at the stinging sensation on his arm. “I think one just grazed me,” he replied. “Nothing dangerous.”

“Good,” she said, placing her bow upon her back again. 

“And you, my Lady?” he asked, doing his best not to sound too concerned. 

Lyse turned to him, her eyes bright and alert and a smile on her lips. Of course she was well, he thought to himself. The bloody woman was damn near indestructible it seemed. Suddenly her eyes widened and her lips parted as she pushed her way towards him. “Nate look out!” she yelled, wrapping her body around his and turning him just in time to see a Chasind release his arrow. There was little time to react as he twisted to get them out of the way, but as her voice cried out, he knew he had not been fast enough.

She sank to the ground, freeing his arms to loose his arrows at the barbarian that had shot her; shot at  _ him. _ More Chasind emerged from the trees, but that did not stop Nate from shooting his weapon until there were no more arrows for him to reach for. He reached down and lifted her onto his shoulders, taking off blindly through the wilds in hopes of losing those trailing him. He prayed to the Maker he was on the right path to Flemeth’s hut and to Anders.

“Stop. Nate, we have to get this arrow out,” she groaned, hitting his back with her small fists. “I have some potions left!”

He did as she said, setting her not so gently on the ground and wincing as she gasped out in pain. The rain was coming down in torrents now, smattering his hair to his face as he examined her wound. Lyse was lucky, the arrow had pierced through her leathers, but it had landed in the soft flesh of her side. 

“We need to get to Anders,” he warned, grabbing arrows from her quiver and sticking them in the ground at his feet in case they met with more Chasind.

“No. Snap the back end of this off. I’ll pull it through and put this poultice on it,” she ordered, pushing herself to her knees and leaning over to give him better access. “Chasind and their bloody fucking hooks.”

“It’s not very becoming of a lady to curse like a soldier,” Nate said, mocking her with a half smile as he snapped the feathered end of the arrow off as quickly as he could. The motion made the woman cry out, but she did her best to shove her fist into her mouth to stifle the sound. If he hadn’t hated her so, he would admire her strength as she breathed through the pain, readying herself to pull the bolt from her own body.

“Do I look like a bloody fucking lady to you right now?” she cursed, glaring at him. No. No she did not. If the situation had not been so incredibly dire, Nate might have found it comical. 

She reached forward, grasping the head of the arrow and began pulling. Her entire body trembled with agony as she grunted and gasped and groaned, desperately trying to remain as quiet as possible while the rain showered them. With one last yank, the arrow was free from her body, leaving streams of blood pouring from the wound. Deftly, she pulled the cork out of the poultice, spitting it into the grass, and smeared her fingers with it. 

Both of them were so focused on the task that neither of them noticed the Chasind until Nathaniel felt the cold prick of a spear to his neck. He raised his arms in surrender, knowing there was nothing he could do while they pushed past him to grab at Lyse. She kicked and fought with everything she had, but one swift finger jab into her wound, and she went motionless in their arms. The tip of the spear pressed harder against his neck, forcing Nathaniel to move forward and follow them. There was no getting out of this mess now, he thought to himself as he watched Lyse’s braid swinging from side to side as the barbarian holding her walked ahead. 

Should have had a Plan B.


	10. Chapter 10

Lyse woke with a start the moment her body was tossed to the ground. Pain shot through her side, blurring her vision as she tried to set herself upright, only to be kicked in the very place she hurt. She cried out, tears stinging her eyes as she clutched herself, curling into a ball as memories flashed through her mind. She could have sworn she heard Rendon Howe laugh as he kicked her again, spilling those tears from her eyes while he hurt her again and again and again…

“Enough.” The voice was deep, rough,  _ powerful. _ It held the authority to make the pain stop, or at least the constant kicking. Another body fell beside her and she dared peek through her lashes to see Nathaniel on his knees looking at the ground. His face was shrouded by his dark, wet hair, but she could tell he was pissed. 

The bastard should have left her behind.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to roll over, biting her tongue to the point of tasting blood in her mouth to combat the pain that burdened her. Her eyes lifted to reveal a man that surely had giant’s blood in his veins. His chest was wide enough that even Nathaniel could stand in front of him and be hidden by his bulk and he was covered in what looked like a thick warpaint from where his breeches clung to his waist all the way to his face. 

An Avvar.

His cold eyes watched her as he looked down his hooked nose. Powerful arms, thick as trees, crossed over his chest as he scowled, glancing over at Nathaniel who was still looking at the ground. Her heart went out to him, wishing that she hadn’t taken him along for her heroic antics. He probably hated her even more right now for not listening to him in the first place, if she had to guess. 

Silence permeated the air as more Chasind surrounded them. Even through her cloud of agony, Lyse had to wonder why they were following a bloody Avvar. It made no sense. She knew the history before the Second Blight when they had allied with each other before, but they had failed then, so why try now? What interested them in Ostagar so much to bring them to this alliance?

“Kill them,” the Avvar ordered, unfolding his arms and reaching for a staff that was shaped like that of a dragon. Green gems sparkled and glowed the moment his hand wrapped around the smooth wooden handle and sparks shot from them when he tapped it on the ground. Lyse’s eyes grew wide as swords were drawn, their sharp blades glinting dangerously in the flickering flames behind them. This was it. Her life would be over, which wasn’t a completely unwelcome thought. No more nightmares, no more pain. The only thing that worried her was just how Alistair would take the news. That thought alone was enough to make her long to live. She hated that her death would only bring him more pain.

“Wait!” Nathaniel’s voice called out. She looked at him, admiring the fierce determination in his eyes as he looked fearlessly at the Avaar. Surely the giant of a man would take off his head just for speaking out, but he held up his hand to halt the execution.

“I suppose you have a reason that I shouldn’t kill you?” he asked, voice rumbling with mild amusement. 

“You have no idea who you have just captured, do you?” Nate asked, turning his attention to Lyse. If her face wasn’t already twisted with discomfort, she might have found herself frowning at him, wondering what he was getting at.

The amusement left the Avvar’s eyes as his face returned to that of a stoic leader. “It matters not who I have.”

The Chasind began approaching them again, one of them grabbing at her hair and roughly pulling her into a sitting position, placing his steel to her neck. He was just waiting for the final order, the nod that would end her life right then and there. 

_ Oh Andraste, please do not let Alistair suffer long, _ she prayed.  _ Grant him the strength to crush his enemies once again… _

“You bloody fool! You have the Queen of Ferelden in your grasp!” Nathaniel shouted. “If she dies at your hands, King Alistair will bring the full strength of his army to crush you.”

Lyse’s eyes widened as she glanced at him from their corners. The Avvar held up his hand again, concern and intrigue now upon his face as he looked at her once again. She prayed again, hoping that his lie would be enough to convince the man to allow them to live. Oghren would reach Alistair by nightfall and the king could have ravens sent out to every corner of Ferelden asking for aid in saving their beloved hero and they would come. With his numbers now, Alistair was sure to emerge victorious should he choose to engage them here at Ostagar.

“Is this true?” he asked, his footsteps falling heavy as he approached her. He dropped to one knee, leaning over her to look into her eyes and assess the truth. 

Nathaniel may have lied, but he didn’t know that there was enough possibility to make his lie work entirely in their favor. “Aye. He tells you true,” she swallowed, gritting her teeth against the discomfort of the position she was in.

The Avvar took several moments studying her, his cold dark eyes looking into her as if he could make out her very soul. His thick fingers grasped at her chin, surprisingly gentle as he turned her face from side to side. “Why would a king send his wife into the territory of his enemy?” he finally asked, still holding her face.

“It’s not like I gave him any choice. I may love my husband, but I will not allow him to control me,” she growled, pressing on with the lie as easily as if it had been the truth.

He laughed, deep and rich and rather charming for such a large man. “I like her. A true warrior,” he said, nodding to his Chasind for them to back away. “Tell me, little fighter. If I send word to your king, he will tell me as you have?”

Lyse nodded, “He will. He might even trade this little piece of land you want so much for me. Alive, of course.”

“Very well. Bora, you will travel to this king and tell him we have his wife. Watch his reaction to see if this one lies,” the Avvar ordered, pointing to one of the Chasind. The man bowed and took off without question. “Take them to the cells. No food. No water.”

The Chasind that had been holding her hair, pulled her to her feet, making Lyse cry out in pain as the wound from the arrow pulsed. She hadn’t had enough time to get the poultice on it well enough to do much healing, and though it wasn’t actively bleeding anymore, it was still open and angry.

“If you want the king to give you this land, I suggest healing her. If she dies, no doubt he will attack you,” Nate said as he was dragged to his feet beside her. 

The Avvar turned from them, walking towards his hut with his dragon staff in hand. “The gods will decide her fate,” he said, walking through the door. “Just as they have decided mine.”

 

***

 

Nathaniel caught himself on his arms as he was shoved into the same pen they had rescued the scouts from hours earlier, saving his face from the muck and sewage that made up the floor. He wrinkled his nose up at the smell, a hearty aroma of piss and shit mixed with rotting flesh. Lyse was not so lucky. Weakened by her wound, she fell on her back in the worst of it, groaning as she forced herself up on her elbows. 

The rain had since stopped, but the wind from the south was cold and biting as they both made their way to the single dry spot in one corner of the cell. Lyse leaned heavily against the metal bars, resting her head back as she breathed heavily and held her side. It was amazing to him that she was still pushing on this way when surely the pain should have completely crippled her.

“Are you alright, my Lady?” he asked. 

She raised an eyebrow and smirked, somehow finding him funny in this moment. “Since when are you concerned about me?”

“You took an arrow that was meant for me. I did not realize voicing my concern for your well being would bring offense. Apologies,” he grumbled, resting an arm on his knee and picking at the grass they sat upon.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she laughed, a pleasant sound in these dire circumstances. “I’ll be even better if you would reach into my boot and pull out the vial I have stored there.”

Nathaniel looked at her, following her gaze to her boot that went up her calf. 

“I would do it myself, but it hurts to bend or twist, or move at all actually,” she added, wiggling her leg and wincing. 

He did as he was told, though he had to remove the shoe completely to retrieve the vial in question. It was small, barely a dose of a healing agent, and not nearly enough to heal the damaged caused by the hooked arrow. She took it from his hand and pulled the cork out with her teeth, spitting it to the ground and drinking it quickly. “That should stop it from getting infected for a few hours,” she said with a smile.

“How is it you remain so optimistic?” Nate wondered aloud, rubbing his hands together to warm them from the cold wind that licked at the two of them. It would have been cold regardless if they had been in dry clothes, but it was miserable being soaked from the heavy rain and tossed into a muddy pit without any shelter to protect them from the elements. It was no wonder most of the scouts had died while being held here.

“Well, for one, your quick thinking just saved our lives,” she replied. “Two, Oghren will make it to Alistair by morning. And three, I’d like to believe that they made it to Anders, or at least to the hut.”

“You think that he survived all of that?” he asked. It was difficult to imagine that he hadn’t come into some direct confrontation when performing his task. 

Lyse nodded, “I do. He’s resourceful. Escaped the mage’s tower seven times.”

He wanted to argue that escaping Templars wasn’t exactly the same as running around blindly in a forest he didn’t know being chased by hundreds of enemies, but he knew it would do no good. She was convinced and if her optimism kept her going, who was he to douse the flame? 

“We should rest,” he said instead, situating himself down on the ground and wrapping his arms about his body as best he could to keep what precious warmth he did have. 

“Er, could you remove my other boot? I have another vial in there that I will need,” she muttered, worrying at her lower lip and avoiding his gaze. With a growl, he sat back up and helped her shake off the other shoe to reveal a vial of sleeping draught.

“Who brings a bloody sleeping potion with them on a mission?” he asked, holding the vial in his hands just out of her reach. She glared at him, forcing herself to reach for it as though her life depending upon her using it. Successful, she did the same as when she took the health potion and pressed herself up against him. 

“Stop trying to move away from me. I know this isn’t ideal, but neither is freezing to death,” she ordered, wrapping her arm over his torso and curling up as tightly as she could to him. “If we’re lucky, we won’t have to spend another night in here for you to find out why I need that.”

He couldn’t argue with her further, and relaxed under her touch. If only his father could see him now. What would he say? Or think? He couldn’t imagine it would be anything good or uplifting, that much he knew. Here he was, Nathaniel Howe, son of a traitor working for the woman that defeated his father and now sharing his heat with her so they could survive through the night. What a twisted web of fate the Maker seems to weave, he thought to himself as her breathing soon slowed, becoming deeper and more even. 

The next day they were woken by sharp jabs with wooden sticks, forcing them away from their dry spot into the muck. There was no reason for it, not from what Nate could see, other than to make them miserable. At least the sun had come out, rising over the treelines and warming their chilled flesh enough they no longer had to huddle together for warmth.

Lyse looked fairly well, despite being covered in filth. For the most part, she sat still, clutching her hand at her side and wincing from time to time. Other than pangs of hunger and a dry mouth from thirst, Nathaniel was more than fine. He spent the day testing each metal bar for weakness, or searching through the muck for anything he could use to pick the lock that kept them caged like animals. There was no luck, and the metal from their buckles wasn’t enough to make anything useful to aid them.

So they sat and they waited.

By midday, the sun had warmed them completely, drying the muck that clung to their skin and clothes and allowing it to be scratched off with little effort. It even grew to be a bit hot, which was both a blessing and a curse. The filth they sat in warmed, releasing a horrible stench that Nathaniel couldn’t imagine getting used to, and the rotting corpses just a few feet away weren’t helping matters. With the foul smell permeating the air, flies and other bugs came. 

Lyse did her best to fight the blighters off. She swatted and cursed and flinched and growled in frustration as she tried to keep them off her. Nathaniel ripped the arm of his undershirt off to tie it around her waist, protecting it as best they could from the biting insects that tried to have a taste, but it did little to help. 

By late afternoon, the two of them were covered in bites from head to toe and weak from lack of food or water. She had grown pale as the day dragged on, and every little movement she made seemed to make her hiss. Any time Nathaniel offered his concern, she swatted him away, assuring him that she was fine and would continue to be until Alistair came to their rescue. She rested against the metal bars of their prison as often as the guards would allow before jabbing her with their wooden sticks just to send her back into the mud and muck.

The entire situation seemed hopeless to Nate as night finally approached. Oghren should have long since reached the king, and the Chasind messenger should have as well. He had hoped, when telling his little lie, that Alistair would have immediately rallied his available troops and charged ahead. He had the numbers he needed to win the battle and save them, but it seemed less and less likely he would do so as the moon rose higher in the sky. The only comfort he had was that the Avvar had not come to them yet, seeking their deaths after discovering their lie, which made him question just how close Lyse and he were. 

Sleep did not come easy for him the second night. It was just as cold, though now he was dry, so he was wrapped up around Lyse who had seemed far more chilled than he was at the time. She fought sleep hard, but lack of food, her wounds, and battling flies all day had left her weak. 

That didn’t stop her from fighting in her sleep. 

She kicked and jerked and mumbled constantly, rousing Nate nearly every time he was about to doze. She was active enough that he gave up on trying to keep her warm, pushing his body away from hers and setting up against the bars. It was cold, but he didn’t have to worry about getting headbutted in the face. He wondered if this was what she meant by needing the sleeping potions. It seemed reasonable that she would be plagued with nightmares as most soldiers were after fighting in wars, but he had never remembered his father behaving the same way.

He was just about to fall asleep when she began speaking. At first, he couldn’t understand anything she said as she thrashed around, and he honestly hadn’t tried. But hearing his brother’s name on her lips had forced him wide awake and listening intently. 

“No. Please,” she begged. “Thomas, stop.”

Her words were as clear as day, and the fear and worry on her face made him wonder just what it was she was dreaming about. And why it was his brother.

“My Lady?” he asked, reaching for her shoulder and trying to rouse her. She jerked awake, sitting straight up and staring into his eyes with a look of pure terror that sent chills straight to his bones. Her lips parted as her breathing came out rapidly, her eyes wide with fear staring straight through him. He waited, sitting still as she blinked, coming back to this side of the Fade, finally seeing him.

“Nate?” she whispered, her fear turning to despair. He had never seen her look so vulnerable since meeting her, even as a child she never showed fear or weakness despite being a girl. 

“Shh, it was just a dream,” he said calmly, holding up a hand. Lyse steadied her breathing and nodded, rubbing her face. “You’re cold. Come here,” he ordered, pulling her to his side and wrapping his arm around her. She surprised him by doing as he said, resting her head against his neck as she nestled against his side. Nothing more was said between them as they waited for morning light and hopefully a chance at freedom.


	11. Chapter 11

“Lyse? Shit, Lyse wake up.”

She could hear Nathaniel’s voice from far away calling to her while her body shook incessantly from chills wracking up and down her spine. She felt as though she were freezing, her teeth a constant chatter as she curled into a tighter ball to stay warm. His hand grasped her shoulder, shaking her, and she could feel the tickle of his long black hair on her face as she turned to him.

“Nate? Is it Alistair? Has he come for us?” she asked, trying to sit up. Her left side screamed in agony as she moved, and their makeshift bandage felt wet and warm against her skin. She wondered if maybe she was bleeding again. 

“No. Shit, you’re burning with fever,” he cursed, feeling her face and her neck with his cold hands. Lyse was tired of the cold, tired of the shivering, tired of being kept in this cage and tired of being in pain. “Let me look at your wound.”

She pushed him away, shaking her head. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine,” she told him, wrapping her arms around her. “I just need to set up by a fire and I’ll warm right up.”

“Don’t be foolish, my Lady,” he sneered. “You are warm enough to warm  _ me. _ Lift up your shirt and let me take a look.”

The moment he reached for the hem of her tattered shirt, she pushed herself away despite the torment the action put her body through. No, he would see, he  _ couldn’t _ see. She wouldn’t let him. “I said I’m  _ fine. _ ”

Nate lifted his hands and backed away, giving her the space she needed without pressing further. Instead, he went to the door and called out for one of their guards. They ignored him, like they did every time he asked for food or water, but this time he didn’t stop until they came up and jabbed him several times with their long wooden sticks. 

“She needs healing,” he pointed at her where she sat. No shit. She had needed healing from the time they were brought in, but it wasn’t bloody likely she was getting it.

The Chasind guarding them growled, jabbed him several more times for good measure until he was kneeling on the ground and gasping in pain. “Go tell your leader she is sick. If she dies, do you really want it on your head?” he spat, holding his sides where they had hit him.

The threat seemed to resonate with them, for the two looked at each other before one jogged off down the path. While Nate was distracted, Lyse lifted the cloth covering her wound and winced at the sight. It was an angry red color and looked bigger than it had the day before. Red streaks snaked out from the site and it looked like pus was seeping from it. 

Shit. 

If it was infected, and she knew it was, she had hours, a day at most before she was dead and there was still no sign of Alistair coming to their rescue. She had hoped he would rush in, charging the enemy with blind determination since Oghren would have been able to relay all the information. Maybe he had been caught on his way out of the marsh? Or maybe he got lost? Or maybe Alistair was tired of waiting on her to make up her mind about whether or not she could talk with him. 

He would wait until  _ now _ to get that message, wouldn’t he?

Quickly she covered the wound with the cloth, hiding it from Nathaniel’s prying eyes as he crawled over to her. Several minutes passed with no words until the Chasind returned. And he wasn’t alone. The big Avvar mage that had sentenced them to this cell walked with surprising grace, his large feet packing the dirt beneath his bulk as he knelt beside the metal bars and looked at her with those cold, dark eyes. 

“You’re dying,” he said flatly, his gaze never leaving hers. 

“You’d be surprised at how indestructible I am,” she grimaced, trying to push through the pain and the fever and the weakness that was consuming her body. 

The Avvar smiled, a genuine smile that wrinkled the corners of his eyes and chipped the warpaint slathered there. He was almost handsome, she thought to herself. Strong jaw, broad shoulders, excessively large frame; she could think of a good many noblewomen in Amaranthine alone that would be interested in a man like him. If only it weren’t for the darkness swimming about in the depths of those cold, calculating eyes, as if there were something there hiding in plain sight just begging her to see it…

“The gods are not favoring you, little lowlander,” he said. 

“ _ Your _ gods aren’t favoring me. Have you a moment to allow me to speak to you of the Maker and Blessed Andraste?” At this point, Lyse couldn’t care less if she offended him. She knew her chances of getting out of here were slim unless Alistair attacked soon and given the relaxed nature of the man before her, that likely was not the case.

The Avvar tossed back his head and laughed, his belly shaking and eyes watering as if what she had said was the funniest thing he had heard in his lifetime. “I like you, lowlander. You have a fire in you.” He wiped his eyes and smiled at her through the bars. “I’ll give you another chance with the gods. If they deem you worthy, I’ll take you for my own.”

That didn’t sound the least bit pleasing to her. Handsome and powerful or not, Lyse didn’t  _ belong _ to anyone, least of all him. She nearly opened her mouth to tell him exactly what he could do with his second chance, but closed it with a quick snap. Any chance of surviving a little longer meant it would be a better chance of Alistair figuring out a way to save them, and that likely wouldn’t happen if she decided to piss off their most gracious host.

“An interesting thought. I will have to give it much consideration,” she replied instead. She knew that he could sense the lie the moment it left her lips, but he said nothing else as he nodded to the guards behind him. 

They said nothing more while they waited for the guards to return with whatever their leader had sent them to find. He had since stood to his full height and turned to converse with the single guard that had remained behind, his voice too low for Lyse or Nathaniel to catch anything exchanged between them. It took several minutes before the Chasind returned, their hands clutching bundles of freshly picked elfroot. 

Well, it was better than nothing.

“May the gods find favor in you this time,” he told her, grabbing the leafy stalks and dropping them onto the ground. Nathaniel wasted no time rushing to collect them before they became too tainted by the muck.

“She could use food. At least water,” he called out. Lyse worried for a moment that the man was going to ignore them, or choose to kill her companion for daring to speak out. As it was, she needn’t have because the mage nodded to the guard he had talked to and bowls of rain water they had collected from the night they were captured were brought to them. 

When they were left alone, Nate took a few sips from the bowl and offered the rest to Lyse. Try as she might to not be greedy, she couldn’t help but feel immensely better the moment the water hit her tongue and before she knew it, it was nearly gone. She apologized, but Nathaniel ignored her as he began pulling the leaves off the elfroot and sticking them in his mouth to chew. 

“You take some too,” he ordered, handing her one of the stalks. There was no point in denying him, not that she would have anyway. The elfroot would help combat the fever and the aches and pains, even when ingested raw. Meanwhile, he reached for the cloth wrapped around her waist that was now wet with the seepage coming from her festering wound. 

He cursed under his breath as he examined what she would allow him to, lips pressed into a fine line as his jaw worked on chewing the leaves into a pulp. Then he took the last of the water and poured it over the hole, cleaning it as best he could before spitting the wad into his hand and packing it into the wound itself. He then turned to her back where the arrow had entered and repeated the process. Lyse tried her best to focus on swallowing her own leaves, tears stinging at her eyes as flashes of pain shot through her body. 

It took nearly an hour to completely pack the wound with what they had been given; Nathaniel staying patient the entire time as she forced herself to be as still as possible as he worked on her. He even ripped the other sleeve of his shirt to tie it around her to keep it as protected as possible, not that there was much they could do to save it or her by now. She knew that she had at most another day to wait it out. After that, all the elfroot in Thedas wouldn’t save her without the help of magic. 

A couple hours later, sometime after the guards had their midday meal, Lyse knew that the elfroot wasn’t enough. Chills continued to course the length of her spine and no matter how much she chewed, the pain seemed to be getting worse. She would be lucky to see the sunset, or at least feel the sun’s last rays for the day as she found it getting harder and harder to stay awake. 

Nathaniel stayed silent and stoic through it all. He had tried to get more water for her, but his pleas had fallen on deaf ears. He had tried to check her wounds again, but eventually gave up because she would use every last bit of her strength to keep him from seeing those bloody scars. Funny how even in her last few hours of life she was still unwilling to share that bit of her past with the one person that should know about it. She even found it a bit silly that she would keep trying to hide it from  _ him _ when Alistair and Oghren and Leliana and anyone else she had called friend knew, but something about demonizing the man Nate idolized felt wrong. She didn’t want to be the one to do it at any rate. 

“Hey, Nate?” she groaned, situating herself into a more comfortable position. 

“My Lady.” His tone was short. Staccato. Even her dying made him mad. 

“When you get out of here, you have to return to Amaranthine,” she told him, closing her eyes and feeling the warmth of the sun spread across her cheeks.

“And why must I do that? I thought you would put in a word for me with Alistair?” he asked. 

“About that. I don’t think that’s happening anymore. That brute was right. These gods of his aren’t favoring me and it seems like my luck in avoiding death has finally come to an end,” she replied with a grin, peeking at him through her lashes. She could tell he wanted to argue with her, tell her to hold on just a bit longer, but her lack of optimism on the subject seemed to hold his tongue. “When you get back to Amaranthine, seek out Varel. He will put everything in order for you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

With a deep breath, she lifted her head and looked at him. The man looked like hell, his skin sallow and taunt, jawline full of stubble, his expression grim. She could still make out a fire in his eyes, one that let her know that he hadn’t given up yet, not completely anyway. “Remember how I told you people with plan B’s are those whose plan A’s tend to fail? Well, I wasn’t sure  _ exactly _ how this mission would go, so I made my first plan B.”

“My Lady-” he began, irritation in his voice, but she stopped him with a weak wave of her hand.

“I had to name an heir. I named you.”

Lyse wished that she had been at full health to appreciate the countless expressions that crossed his face as he processed what she had just told him. Confusion, disbelief, even anger were among the most dominant. “And why would you do that? I tried to kill you,” he pointed out, taking his burning gaze from her and looking at the ground.

“Amaranthine is your home, more than it ever would be mine,” she explained. “And you did nothing to sully your name, your father did it all on his own.”

“And that’s why you named me your heir? Because you thought I would  _ want _ it? Because you pitied me?” he growled. Of course he would still find a way to be hateful to her. Here she was, giving him the death he had sought from the beginning and handing his childhood home back on a silver platter and he  _ still _ hated her. 

“Forgive me, I was put on the spot and it was a last minute decision that I thought you would appreciate. Unfortunately, I think it might be a little late to have Varel change the paperwork and leave everything to Ranger for me.”

If she thought he had been giving her the death glare before, she was surely getting it now. This time he didn’t speak right away, rather he kept picking at the grass and staring at his boots in contemplation. 

“You’re getting out of this alive, my Lady. I’ll make sure of it,” he said after a while, his tired grey eyes holding every bit of promise in them. It almost made her reconsider opening her mouth again. Almost.

“You’re going to rethink that in a minute. I still have to answer your question,” she said as she leaned back against the bars again. 

“I don’t remember asking one.”

“When we first met. In the dungeon? You asked if your father died an honorable death, remember?” Lyse dared to peek at him with one eye, confirming that he did, in fact, remember asking. 

“Why are you bringing this up now?” His voice was careful, cautious. He wanted to know the answer, but he didn’t want to seem too eager.  _ Maker bless him, _ she prayed, closing her eyes once again now that she knew she had his full attention.

“Because it’s the one story you won’t hear from anyone. No one knows it except me,” she replied. “But you should. You were his son, and his death and your brother’s were my greatest sins.

“You see, back a few weeks before the siege at Denerim, I snuck into the city with a few of my companions. We hung out in the Pearl, made a few friends, drank more than we should. Every day I was able to watch the guard rotations at your father’s new estate. I memorized them, obsessed over them until finally I hijacked one of his guards, donned the armor, and infiltrated the mansion,” she began, twisting the details she didn’t want him to know; the ones he really didn’t need to know. 

“It was too easy. I snuck in, poisoned his men while he and Thomas were in their dungeon, making it impossible for them to call for help as I descended the stairs. What I found there was...horrifying. It seemed your father and brother were quite the fans of torture,” she added. 

“It was no secret that he acted as a torturer for Loghain. War has a price, and some men must pay a higher one than others. That doesn’t make my father a monster,” Nathaniel grumbled. Oh, but of course it did. She knew the cost, she had paid that price and Nate was about to find out just what sort of monster she had become.

“Whatever you say,” she shrugged with a grimace. “Your brother was the first one I found. He was just leaving a room that had a dead woman in it,” Lyse paused. “Something in me snapped at the sight of her lifeless eyes before that door shut. And there was your brother, hands all bloody and doing up his breeches.

“He was easy to catch. I caught him by surprise and overwhelmed him before he ever recognized my face. I tied him to a chair and had only to wait on Rendon to show up looking for him, which didn’t take long. Your father liked to play with poisons too, I assume that’s where you learned it from?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she continued, “Well, I was able to find some lovely Adder’s Kiss poison and enough ingredients to make the antidote. That is one poison you  _ really _ don’t want to play with without backup.”

“Just get to the point, Cousland,” Nathaniel snapped. She could feel his burning anger from where she sat. She supposed she should have told him the  _ entire _ truth, about how Rendon had taken her hostage at the Landsmeet and given her to Thomas as if she were some prize that he had won; how Thomas had spent every night in her cell fucking into her body while she begged the Maker and Andraste and whoever was listening to make it stop, but what would he care? Would it make him hate her less? She doubted that, and so she continued.

“I did as that Crow was said to do, you know the story? I put it on my lips and gave your brother the best kiss of his life while he was chained to that chair and then I drank the antidote. Your father begged me to stop, to give Thomas some and that he would let me-that he would allow me to leave without pressing charges,” she said, catching herself. “But I wanted him to suffer like I did. To see his son dying in front of him knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it. I wanted him to watch his world fall apart like I watched mine that night he gave the orders to kill my family. _His_ _friends._

“I’d like to say it was a quick death for Thomas, but Adder’s Kiss is a nasty poison. It took him three hours to die and all the while I had stuck the other dose of antidote just out of your father’s reach. It’s amazing what hope can do to spur one’s imagination to get out of a situation.”

Nathaniel stood, his eyes burning with anger and rage as he pointed a finger at her in accusation. “How  _ dare  _ you! You meant the world to Thomas! All he ever talked about how one day the two of you would marry, and this? You did this to him? And act as though you enjoyed it?” he shouted, spit flying from his trembling lips. 

Had she enjoyed it? Knowing that he was dead was a great comfort, that she had no doubt, but Rendon’s begging and howling while his son died before him, just out of reach was what haunted her. And Thomas...at the time giving him the most painful death she could imagine was what had felt right and what she had wanted, but seeing the poison at work? The way he paled and the blood that poured from every orifice of his body while he struggled to catch his breath... _ that _ had been too much. 

And still, in that moment she wouldn’t have been satisfied until Rendon was dead.

“I’m sure he was. He asked for my hand every year after he came of age,” she gasped. “But I would have rather died than be his bloody wife. Father knew it, which is why he never accepted Rendon’s proposal to unite our families.”

“And so, because he showed some  _ interest _ in you, you killed him?” Nate asked.

“It was more than just a passing fancy, but I don’t expect you to understand just how insufferable that foolish drunk was,” she argued. “And before you get angry about that, I still haven’t told you your father’s fate.”

“I assume it was the same as Thomas’.”

She shook her head, “Oh no. I played around with a few of his toys for a bit. Nothing seemed to really fit my fancy though. I apparently lack finesse with torture, as Rendon so kindly reminded me as I strung him up by his feet and nicked that artery on his neck. I can say, at least Thomas was among the last things he saw before he died.”

Lyse couldn’t have prepared for Nathaniel’s attack even had she wanted to. For someone that hadn’t eaten in three days and barely had enough water to function after being exposed to all manner of elements, he was lightning fast as he wrapped his fingers around her neck and began to squeeze. She didn’t even bother fighting him at first, content with letting him choke the life out of her to bring her end faster, but once she couldn’t breathe, it was difficult to not fight.

Nathaniel squeezed harder, his eyes now cold steel as he thought of nothing else but wanting to kill her. She could see his hatred as her fingers clawed weakly at his hands until a flash of doubt appeared. He dropped her as quickly as he had grabbed her, staring down at his hands as though he couldn’t imagine that he had just been capable of doing something so barbaric as choking a sick and dying woman.

“You’re a monster,” he spat, turning his back to her and taking his place at the far end of the cell as he could. 

Lyse gasped for air, her hands reaching for the tender skin of her throat, tears stinging her eyes. “You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know.”

 

***

 

After everything that monster of a woman had told him, Nathaniel chose sitting in the mud and muck over sitting beside her. All he wanted to do was end her life, to make her suffer the way she had made his family suffer, but damn it all she already  _ was. _ She had nothing and no one. Whatever she had with King Alistair must have ended poorly since he hadn’t come to their rescue yet. And now she was dying in one of the worst manners possible in a cell where her only companion was a man that hated her beyond reason. 

He simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. It would have been a kindness to end her suffering, and yet he couldn’t stand the thought of her blood on his hands. She was in this position because she had saved his life. She was dying. For him.

The Maker works in shit ways.

The sun was slowly beginning its descent in the distance, marking the coming end of another day. A few more hours of light left, Nate assumed, and possibly only a few more hours left within the woman that was curled into a tight ball on the other side of the prison cell they shared. Hunger gnawed at his spine, waves of dizziness washing over him in tidal waves. His tongue was thick and heavy in his mouth, dry from lack of water. At this rate, he wouldn’t have much time left either. 

He was just beginning to drift off when shouts were heard in the distance. Nathaniel thought that maybe his delirious mind was playing tricks on him as the Chasind guards seemed to pay little mind, but then he heard a horn. The signal they were being attacked. 

Nate stood and looked out the cage towards the main host of Ostagar, eyes straining in the fading light. Smoke billowed into the sky and screams echoed through the hills. One of the guards gave orders to the other two, sending them into the forest while he glared at his prisoners. As Nate was currently pressed against the bars to get a better look, he came at him with his jabbing stick. With hope in his heart that their rescue had finally come, he found the strength to dodge the stick and grab it.

The surprised Chasind wasn’t quite sure what to make of this new development, and Nathaniel was able to use this to his advantage as he pulled the stick through the bars and out of the guard’s hands. Before he could get out of range, the rogue snapped the stick and drove it into the neck of the Chasind, severing his artery and sending him to the ground, choking on his own blood as his fingers grasped at the wood. 

Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Nate grabbed onto the man and pulled him closer to the prison and searching as far as his arms would reach in search of the keys he knew were tied to his belt. When his fingers finally found the ring, he let out a short bark of laughter, clutching them tightly as he made his way to the cell door and unlocked it. He stumbled through the door and straight to one of the tables where water was sitting untouched in horns and greedily drank his fill. There were a few berries stacked on a wooden plate and some bread as well, which he ate carefully to avoid filling up and slowing him down.

If Alistair and his army were attacking, he had time. 

Satisfied that he would be able to run without weakness overtaking him now, Nathaniel began rummaging through the different chests and barrels that surrounded the area, looking for anything he could use to defend himself on his way out of these Makerforsaken ruins. Thankfully, they had stored his bow and other things not too far away from the prison cells, and he thanked the Maker and Andraste for his fortune. 

As he searched through the other artifacts lying around, he stumbled upon the elegantly curved elven made bow that Lyse used. It was a finely crafted weapon, as all Dalish weapons were, made of ironbark and carved with beautiful designs through its limbs. He turned to where the prison cells were, barely able to make out her shape from where he stood, and sighed. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Nate strung her bow over his back with a quiver full of arrows and went to check on her. She was still breathing, though it was more rapid than it had been earlier and she was pale and hot to the touch. He knew it would be better to leave her here; that the added weight of dragging her through the woods would only slow him down and get him killed, but the honorable thing to do would be to try to save her bloody life if he could.

“Can you stand?” he asked, shaking her awake. She looked around, eyes glassy and confused with fever, but she nodded when he asked again. “Good, your king in shining armor has finally arrived.”

He couldn’t tell if the curve in her lips was an attempt at a smile or if she were grimacing in pain as he helped her to her feet. He guided her to the table where more water sat and allowed her to drink her fill before flinging her arm over his shoulder and all but lifting her as he moved as fast as he possibly could into the wilds. 

Luck remained on their side for the moment as the Chasind were all focused on the main attack that was being launched at the ruins themselves. The only problem they faced now was where to go? It would make the most sense to head towards the main camp where the healers would be, but Lyse was far beyond the help of herbal healing and Nate didn’t know if he would still be at that blasted witch’s hut with the other survivors. His best bet was to hopefully run into soldiers that were on his side and ask where the mage could be found, if he hadn’t run off by now.

Soon arrows began to fly by his head, letting the rogue know they were being followed. He cursed and set Lyse down as gently as he was able so that he could turn and pick of the two Chasind behind them. What should have taken two arrows took nearly five, but at last they were dead and they were relatively safe for now. Lyse groaned as he lifted her again, but she pushed through what had to be blinding pain, forcing her legs to work to keep up with him.

Their luck soon ran out as they came upon a bloody battle. Ferelden knights charged with their glinting weapons as the barbarians with their overlarge hammers swung at them. As before, Nathaniel set his ward to the ground and helped the knights as best he could, letting his arrows fly straight and true. He knew he didn’t have time or arrows to stay and help, not with Lyse dying in the bushes nearby, so he worked his way closer to one of the Fereldens and asked them where he should take her. The man seemed glad to know she lived and eagerly told him that the healers had been moved to the hut in the forest. He even mentioned the mage that was working to save as many of them as possible. 

Nathaniel thanked the man and then disappeared back into the brush to retrieve Lady Cousland and rush her to the hut that he knew couldn’t be too far away now. Though the sun was setting lower in the sky, casting strange shadows on the world below, he didn’t give up as he followed the trail he had marked from days earlier to ensure his way back to their base while scouting. They passed a few Chasind on the way, but as long as he was still and she didn’t moan aloud, they paid them no mind.

Unfortunately her strength gave out, legs becoming useless as she fell to the ground. The hills that surrounded the little hut were just within sight, so Nate tried to bring her up again, but she simply couldn’t.

“Leave me. Tell Alistair what we know,” she pushed him away weakly, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. 

“Sorry, my Lady. I told you I would get you out of this alive and I intend to do so,” he said, dropping his bow to the ground in favor of lifting her over his shoulder and pressing on. Her added weight slowed him considerably, and even he had a hard time keeping a steady pace considering all they had been through in the past three days. Still, he kept one foot in front of the other until the hut was in sight. 

He was nearly ready to shout for help when he watched the door of the hut fly open and Anders running out to meet them. He looked tired and bloody, and from the looks of the warriors outside, he still had a long way to go. 

“What happened?” the mage asked, helping Nathaniel into the hut and placing Lyse on a cot. At some point, the poor woman had lost consciousness and lay still. Her breathing was shallow and her skin was as pale as it could possibly be without being transparent. He was no healer, but Nate knew a dead woman when he saw one. 

“She took an arrow three days ago. She wasn’t able to get enough healing potion before we were captured, but we were able to pack it with elfroot earlier today,” he explained. 

Anders examined her, looking at her eyes, in her mouth, and finally at the haphazard cloth that had been tied tight around her waist. 

“Help me remove her shirt,” the mage ordered, turning his back to them to rinse his hands in a bowl of fresh water one of the Chantry sisters had provided him with. Nathaniel balked at the idea, hesitating because he knew just how badly she didn’t want him to while they had been imprisoned. When Anders had turned back around, his brown eyes went cross as he dried his hands on a cloth. “What are you waiting for? Remove her bloody shirt so I can see the damage.”

With a disapproving grunt, Nathaniel grabbed one of the daggers he had taken from the Chasind and deftly ripped open the fabric concealing her body from him. In order to protect her modesty, he turned around and asked one of the aids to bring him water. 

“Oh Sweet Maker!” Anders gasped from behind him, his tone one of despair. Nathaniel felt his heart drop. He hadn’t been fast enough, it seemed, but the next words out of the mage’s mouth stopped him. “Who did this to you?”

Slowly, Nathaniel turned, his curiosity getting the best of him. Anders knew well enough the Chasind had shot her and Nate knew his poisons well enough to know she hadn’t been otherwise she would have long since died from her wounds. One look at her body, however, erased all thoughts of the Chasind from his mind.

Thick, raised scars adorned her freckled skin from below her collarbone down to her navel. Long, silvery scars accompanied them, snaking across her flesh like lightning in the sky. As he looked closer, following the lines of the thicker marks that were obviously brands, he could make out the tell-tale form of a bear. 

The sigil of his house. 

Nausea threatened to overwhelm the rogue as his eyes darted over the length of her torso. She had lied to him. She had lied to his face as she lay in shit and piss dying from a wound she had taken to save his life. 

He didn’t have the chance to scream at her, she was already close to death anyway, before one of the sisters lead him to another room to treat him for his injuries. As they gave him healing potions, food, and more water, he prayed that she would live.

He needed to know why she lied.


End file.
